Voluptuous Obsession
by Dark Hope Assassin
Summary: Bulma is obsessed with her classmate Vegeta. However, he never sees her in the way she sees him. But when Bulma finally becomes his girlfriend, will she finally find a remedy for both their insatiability? DARK HS FIC! R & R!
1. Obsessed

I slam the door to my huge empty house that was once filled with glee and hospitality, now only a compound where I live all alone with a mad scientist of a father and myself.

It's the first day of my freshman high school year and it's supposed to be a happy, joyful day . . . But I cannot feel the blissful emotion that would probably ease my raging spirit . . . Ever since my mother died, I haven't been the same person.

After my dark pre-adolescence, I entered the huge building of Orange Star High impassively, finding my place among all of my future classmates. It only figures that because of my listless murky mood no one even neared me nor talked to me for more than a minute. Though I found it hard to care for such tedious things as amity and socializing with people, who knew nothing of my feelings and would never understand me, even if they gave it their absolute best. I despise those giggly girls that speak about nonsensical emotionless relationships with their irksome loveless boyfriends who use them just as stress relief, but the idiotic females are too brain-dead to realize that. I hate the boys that think they're so cool because last summer their dicks finally started growing or which bimbo they screwed on their last vacation.

I couldn't wait for the bothersome event to be done with so I could follow my teacher to the cabinet I'll be studying in for the next year and make my way back home, to my dark room where all my worthless possessions lay and the only place I can find peace – the comfortable bed that seems just to lull me to sleep upon impact with its pillow.

And it was that moment that I saw him . . .

He was a loner just like me; I could see it from afar . . . His erect jet-black tresses penetrated the air proudly, complementing his straight slightly built figure, as his hands were crossed over his chest and a lopsided tight frown embraced the sharp handsome features of his boyish face. His eye brows and eyes matched the colour of his hair perfectly; his olive-shaded skin a completion to his lurid aura that visibly surrounded him.

I have no idea what it was that drew me to him with such a force . . . Maybe it was his hair that defied every law of gravity that made me wonder if he wasn't a juvenile delinquent around there as well, defying every teacher and authority . . . Or maybe it was his dark colouring that enticed me beyond belief . . . It could be that he was the type of person I always admired and wished for as a boyfriend – cool, calm when not bothered, temperamental . . . It's possible that it was the fact he looked like he took care of himself, worked out occasionally and his embrace looked so warm, with those beautiful well-sculpted arms around me . . .

After that day, the only thing I could think about was that guy. I didn't even know his name, for Christ's sake! And yet I could see his handsome profile so vivid in my mind every time the lids fell over my eyes . . . Unconsciously, I created a person that followed me wherever I went, my 'imaginary friend' taking the shape of the brooding boy I saw on my first day of new school.

Over the first year I spent in the school, the information I figured about my dream boy was very vague and scarce. What I knew was that he was one year my senior, also that he is a physicist (like I am) and that he dallies with a clique of close friends and rarely with anyone else. During my freshman year I also heard that he has never lost a match to anyone and he was famed as "assassin" because everyone who met him in a showdown suffered painful yet never lethal injuries. The only people that managed to pull through a match with him and get away barely harmed are now his friends.

For the entire year I kept following him with my gaze whenever I met him down the hallways, when I went outside with girls of my class that had no one else to ask for company, when I stared out toward the yard, seeing him during his physical education class with all his class mates . . . I knew that slowly but surely I was losing myself to a fantasy . . . Because I didn't know him, I could only imagine how he would react to things that happened around me that I wished he could be there with me to see, to things that I said that could've been labeled as amusing . . . Day after day, I succumbed to this image of him that my mind projected . . . Day after day I couldn't stop staring at him, trying to decode the smallest parts of his character that were hidden behind his gestures – things that probably none of his girlfriends even have done . . .

For an example, I figured he uses his left hand to write. Another thing I figured is that when he runs his hand through his thick spikes, it means trouble to whomever he's talking to, because it means he's getting really irritated. He crosses his arms when someone's bothering him. When he's tired he only lets this blond chick (I knew there was a reason behind me hating blondes my whole life . . . _Get away from him, bitch!_) sit next to him as he nearly dozes off during P.E. class, so if he falls asleep she can wake him up for the bell. He hates waiting but his clique always manages to argue him into staying as the girls take a while to get dressed again (Why don't they just _go_ to school in their P.E. clothes? It's not as if both P.E. classes we have weekly aren't _in the same freaking day!_)

And, the more I stared, the more this thing inside me grew and grew . . . I wasn't even sure anymore if I could call it a crush. I have been staring at him, interested in him, for the longest of times.

There were rare occasions that I was tempted by the thought of going over to him and telling him about me and my little obsession. However I never managed to say it, or to come even close to him myself . . . I just kept watching him from afar, the entire year . . . But soon, my freshman year passed and summer vacation came . . . I hoped that with it came my salvation from my insatiable obsession. I hoped that the summer would chase away any trace of . . . a crush that there was . . . I hoped that once I came back to that Hell Hole, it would be as a better person than the stalker I had been the previous one.

I even went to the sea on my own, because my father refused to even look at me through that metal door he has been behind for a whole year or even more. It wasn't as if I cared . . . I could go there on my own, I was a big girl after all . . . And I quite enjoyed myself, if I have to be honest. But being alone wasn't exactly my idea of a vacation which has for goal forgetting the existence of a guy. I got hit on by a whole load of men, attractive men even. That was a first . . . It actually made me swell a bit with self-esteem which had been running rapidly low for the last few years after my mother's . . . outrage.

But once they all figured I was barely fourteen, they excused themselves, probably to find a wall or something equally hard to slam their heads into. It was so fun!

However, when I returned to my murky repulsing with its quietness home, my mood evaporated and I started sulking again, alone in my room . . .

My sophomore year was . . . An interesting one, so to say. Not to mention that I nearly got a heart attack one of those 'wonderful' days . . .

My staring had obviously become so insistent that even Maron, a very stupid chick from my class, managed to catch on it and actually recognize who I have been staring at. When you look at her, you say that she's a complete me-wannabe . . . Well; she _does_ look exactly like a carbon-copy me . . . minus the inhumane idiocy, happy-go-lucky mood and babyish chubbiness. But her biggest 'virtue' is her stupidity. Sometimes I wonder how it's possible that she can't even tell you what physics are! And, before you ask, _yes_, there _are_ people _that_ stupid, and she is definitely one of them. The only thing she's worth for is blow jobs and intercourse . . .

Anyway . . . I must've become seriously obvious, even though I still had my dignity and never turned my head when he passed by me. One day . . . One day that bitch had the audacity to approach him literally behind my back and spill my precious secret to him . . . Here's what really happened . . .

Maron walked slowly, swinging her hips in what she thought was a seductive gesture, and not the whorish emphasize of her character that it really was. The flame-haired guy just stood there, not even paying attention to her, as he talked to one of his cronies about god-knows-what. The slut leant in on his shoulder and her shrill voice was obviously too close for his ears' tolerance as he pushed her roughly back.

"Hey, Vegeta," she purred, trying to regain her composure, as she was definitely not used to that kind of treatment on the male's part.

"What do you want?" he snapped back at her, uninterested with anything that had to do with her.

"Well, I think that you should know that this girl from my class, Bulma Briefs over there, has been eyeing you like fresh meat ever since the school year started. Maybe you and I should show her that you aren't interested?" She slurred, reclining toward him.

It was that moment when our eyes finally locked, and I was able to look in those deep pools of endless onyx waters and be aware that they were staring right into mine. I wasn't even flushed by Maron's statement. More like drained of colour would be the state I found myself in that exact moment. I thought her actions useless, telling him had nothing to do with anything! It would solve nothing, except him probably picking on me among his friends, I'd never be able to look at him again because of my even more conflicting emotions, stuck between loving him for everything he looked like, everything I obsessed over, and the asshole that he would be for embarrassing me . . .

His gaze returned to the flirtatious girl in front of him and he snorted at her.

"What she does or does not do is none of my business and I don't give a flying fuck! As for you . . ." He pushed her away, nearly knocking her off balance. "Do _not_ touch me ever again. I hold no interest in whores."

And with that, he left her baffled self to stare at the spot where a second ago he and his friends have been. Vegeta (What a wonderful name . . .) – one, Maron – zero. You go, man! If it was even possible, I loved him more after this encounter.

I should have been slightly hurt, in my vulnerable state, from what he said – that he doesn't care. But I wasn't. It was actually quite easy to understand. He had seen me for the first time for those two years I had spent in there. It was the first time he ever acknowledged my existence and it was quite understandable be wouldn't care for me. And still, the next day, when I passed by him and his clique on the way up, I could've sworn it was me who he was looking at from the crowd of sophomores that were climbing the stairs up to the physics cabinet. He didn't pick on me, he didn't mock me, and he didn't sneer toward me. He was just as indifferent as he ever was . . . I couldn't have been more thankful.

Of course, I could've wished that he would pay attention to me . . . But I'm a realist and I know that won't happen.

The rest of the sophomore year of mine passed . . . well, smoothly, so to say, compared to its beginning. Now I knew that his name was Vegeta, though I had no idea about his last name, and . . . Well, that's about all the new information I got. But it was enough . . .

When I realized upon entering my third year there that we were separated by the different dayshifts of school, and that the next time I saw him it would be for the last year of his stay in the school, I couldn't bear it . . . I haven't even properly introduced myself, I didn't even know a thing about him from him personally . . . I hadn't a chance to get to know him, and after next year he would be on his way to University, or for a different country and I would never see him again! For the three years, I have become strangely devoted to him . . . He was a part of my day, even though in a very sick and odd way . . .

I couldn't let this happen. I had to take some actions! I couldn't just go over there and make up some idiotic reason for wanting his help or something . . . It's so see-through that I refused to commit myself to such a thing. And that was why I decided to skip a grade. It is said that such a thing is impossible, especially for physicists, because we're already forced to do impossible things for our ages . . . But I was Bulma Briefs, the daughter of the genius who created the capsules that can pack the monstrous school building, if needed, into a handy little thing that could fit in your hand. There was _nothing_ impossible for _me_.

And so I studied and studied, driven by the thought that I had to take some actions to get rid of this obsession. It was slowly driving me insane . . . Though it could be possible that my genes were fucked up because of my insane mother and schizophrenic father . . . Whatever it was, I didn't care; it was a fact – I was going to be mad before I entered University if I kept that up!

And so, I did the impossible . . . In the beginning of the new school year, I wasn't in class 11-C. I was in 12-C, with Vegeta Ouji and his friends . . .

* * *

It was famed ever since they entered the school as freshmen, that the class which was now 12-C, was the most difficult one to handle in the whole school. It is said that most of those boys and girls were twisted, very strange and other rumors in the same spirits. They took pleasure in the oddest of activities . . . Though it is better if we do not speak of that.

Their teacher, however, was just as odd as they were, and they all got quite well along. Now, he had to outshout the rebelling students right after their first day of school, which was usually just a ceremony in the yard, which was the obvious reason why none of them were present yesterday.

"Are you done with your nonsensical conversations so I can finally begin?" The man sat himself on the chair behind the teacher's desk and looked at his notebook, cocking an eye brow at what he saw.

"Yeah, right, right, can we go home now? I'm not really in the mood to play 'school' with you, Piccolo." The spiky-haired teen called, receiving uproar of cheering from his fellow classmates. Their teacher threw them a glare and they all instantly quieted down.

"You will be all dismissed when I say so. And don't worry – I'm as anxious to 'teach' you maggots again this year as much as you're willing to 'learn'. However," he began, standing from his desk, "this year will be slightly different as another student will be joining our humble little class." He sneered.

"I don't see a new student anywhere around . . ." A blonde girl looked around. It was true – there was no new student in the room. And that was because their new student was lost in the hallways, now asking various other classes for the room of class 12-C.

"How can there be a new student when we're seniors?" The boy with hair that spiked in every possible direction scratched the scruff of his neck, making his flame haired friend shrug.

"She skipped a grade. She was supposed to be in the eleventh now, but she took the special final exams and took two grades in one year." Teacher Piccolo informed them as he checked her profile. Not bad, not bad at all . . . So now he had Dr. Briefs' girl in his class as well. Being a teacher in this school proved to be quite amusing lately.

"Impossible." Vegeta sneered, leaning back on his chair. "No one can skip a grade in _this_ shit hole. And especially not the eleventh." He shuddered involuntarily at the remembrance of his previous year. Saying that it had been Hell was a definite understatement.

"The fact _you_ can't skip it doesn't mean someone else can't." A raven haired girl snapped at him while filing her nails. The flame-haired boy's head whipped to her and his sharp canines bared threateningly her way.

"Why don't you say that again?"

In that moment they had no more time to argue as the door burst open to reveal a very strange character. Her hair was . . . aquamarine blue? But the more important fact was that she was pissed. Very pissed . . . Her head whipped around, staring at the teacher, then at the sitting students, which had all fallen very silent upon her intrusion. Huffing angrily and generally out of breath because she had been running, the girl fixed her glare at the teacher who was studying her as if she was dirt on his shoe. After all, how dare she barge in like that and without a warning?

"Is _this_ 12-C?" she snapped angrily, her hand still on the door knob, ready to slam the door and continue her journey toward her new class, which was placed _god-knows-where_, as she had already stomped through an entire floor without _anyone_ having an idea where the class she was looking for was.

"Why, yes, it is. I guess you should be Bulma Briefs then, our new student." Bulma's raging façade faltered with an inhumane speed and she nodded her impassive expression intact when she slowly closed the door. "Even though I already introduced you to your new class mates, I guess they can have a visual now too." A few boys snickered but still eyed her from head to toe. She didn't look too bad . . . "This is Bulma Briefs, boys and girls, and she is going to be one of us through this tension filled last year of high school."

All of a sudden, seeing the same girl that had been once a grade lower than him, Vegeta changed his mind . . . Maybe skipping a grade wasn't _that_ impossible . . .

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." She bowed respectfully, her deep sapphire eyes captivating every male within the confines of the class room.

It sure was going to be an interesting year . . .

* * *


	2. Amity

I'm sorry to interrupt before you start reading the chapter, but please doheed the **_WARNING_**: Vegeta's thoughts may be crude and vulgar (from now on till the end of the story), but give the guy a break; he's in an M rated fic, alright?

* * *

Upon realizing that this time I hit the jackpot, my posture straightened by what seemed my body's own accord and I quietly closed the door, jumping to the self-defense act of politeness. My idiotic weak heart leapt a beat as it registered in my mind that I'm in the same room as Him . . . My limbs felt numb and I can't even begin to comprehend what I just said to the whole class, and need I mention how much I'm proud of the mysterious ways my mind "shuts off", making it impossible for others to see it does. . . My head moved in a well-mannered bow and I wished it could stay low against my collarbone forever as I knew what would be the first thing my traitorous eyes would scan the room for and find immediately once I lifted it up . . .

With an inaudible sigh to anyone but myself I looked at my new classmates yet those betrayer eyes of mine, as I figured before it even happened, instantaneously landed on his form in the back of the room, sitting by himself on the two-seated desk. What came as a surprise to me, even though it shouldn't have, was not that his lurid aura had even intensified, amplified by the elapsed few years more, and most definitely not his crossed arms over his chest that was a trademark of his even two years ago, but rather the fact how much he had changed . . . No, how much he had _grown up_ . . .

I had no time to ogle at him as the teacher mumbled something to me about my seating. I wasn't stupid; I could _see_ my seat from my position. It was the only available option as the class consisted of twenty-seven people – twenty-eight counting me – and there were only fourteen two-seated desks, the last vacant one next to my voluptuous prince. I wasn't quite sure if I should have jumped up in joy or gone dig a hole in the ground and writhed in it till I died . . .

Without a tone of resistance whatsoever my legs moved on their own, saving me from an even more embarrassing situation than the one I got into after bursting through that door like that and I walked with a grace to be envied for unceremoniously next to him, trying to ignore my intermittent pulse and the power with which the blood literally slammed into my ear drums, making the cycle of the crimson liquid in my body now fully audible for me to hear. I didn't utter a sound as the chair I was forced to choose screeched against the wooden floor with a scarring sound which I paid next to no attention at all.

By the time I was fully aware and capable to react coherently to anything, the teacher had already begun droning on about the rules I have heard three times already, the prohibitions I never broke and the students' rights that I used to my fullest whenever given the chance to. My eyes kept fidgeting to their very boundaries set by the pair of my lids trying to catch a decent glimpse at him.

I must say that even though I am well acquainted with the fact boys start growing rapidly after their tenth grade, the change in him caught me completely off-guard and could've knocked me off my solid feet if he wasn't actually present in the room within eyeshot as well as a throng of strangers I have never seen in my life and preferred not to humiliate myself before of until at least I have learnt their names. I am not sure why his utter transformation had baffled me so . . . Perhaps it was that I always thought him perfect in every possible way that I couldn't imagine him becoming better . . . There couldn't possibly be any better, the borders of my imagination always screamed in ecstasy, engaging in another fit of girlish fantasies afterwards, but he proved me wrong once again.

The last time I saw him his face still had a trace of infancy, a note of that adorable childish ignorance and innocence hidden well in the corners of his eyes, cheeks, curvy full lips . . . Now his jaw line was stronger, his elegantly pointy nose and robust profile of a masculine beauty solidifying his aristocratic radiance. His once pre-adolescent glow that made him _beautiful_, in a slightly genderless manner, was lost to the massive blow of his puberty kicking in. There could be no question now that he was perfect in every possible way now – perfectly and well emphasized male features accentuating on his masculinity more than ever, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat as I felt a brisk fire ablaze between my legs.

His expression spoke volumes of the same intolerable boredom I felt as well, though he had the audacity I didn't not to hide any of it. I observed those plump lips of his, the lower slightly ampler than the other, as his pinkish tongue licked them to keep them satisfyingly moist, making me shift my eyes away from him as I felt a sharp stab in my gut as an assault of warmth washed my innards from inside.

The teacher was now announcing who our teachers for the year will be for every different subject, reminded us to hurry with choosing a subject to master in upcoming University and the rest of his speech I ignored as I noticed that Vegeta's coal black eyes were now fixed on me, his arms on his chair which he had pushed back and looked painfully close to falling on his back.

I turned my head around ever so slowly when I noticed that my desk-mate would still not stop staring at me shamelessly, uncaring that I have actually caught him while at it. My eyes kept returning to his form shifting from looking forward to the corners, catching mere meek glimpses at him still studying me, his head cocking to the side every once in a while, as if trying to remember something . . .

The last thought made my blood freeze in my veins. Remember something . . . Oh, no, please don't remember me, as ironic as it may sound. I don't want him to remember me, I don't want him to recall that idiotic encounter in ninth grade, please don't remember . . .

My heart started pounding mercilessly against my ribcage knocking the wind out of me and I could swear I turned paler than usual at the thought of the way he'd look at me throughout _the entire year_ during which we would _sit together_ . . . I wouldn't be able to bear the nauseating stare of his, looking at me as though I'm filth on his shoes, as though I'm inferior than he is . . . Thinking of the claustrophobia that would embrace my entire being through the year if he recalled who I was, if he remembered whom the name I have belonged to made my breath quicken with the scary idea.

He crossed his hands again and leant on the desk, his head resting on his crisscrossed arms, and dark gaze directed straight at me. I swallowed dryly and quietly enough for him not to notice my nervousness that only my body's secretions could hint, like my profusely sweating brows. He just stared and stared at me, as if trying to read something hidden in my eyes that I never managed to see in my mirror's reflection. I'm not really sure, but I think I stared back at him with the same indifferent yet slightly curious expression he gave me.

Now that he was closer to me by leaning forward, I caught an odd whiff of an unknown aroma – a sharp, chocking scent, masculine in its entire bitter sweet smelling glory. The essence penetrated my nostrils ruthlessly, settling comfortably in the back of my tongue, leaving a lingering thick feeling long after initially inhaled. The stifling odour stratified in my mouth with each breath I took, mesmerizing me and sending me hurling into a state of delirium where I could completely enjoy the knowledge that I was close enough to Vegeta to catch the scent of his body . . . And then the most puzzling thing for me happened.

"Are you an asthmatic?"

He spoke.

Music to my ears was that deep baritone of his, a caress to my ear drums. I have never, even in my bravest dreams and reveries, thought that _he_ would actually speak to _me_. And then my proud spoilt self that I have somehow lost throughout these years of insane obsession finally kicked in when my brain registered _what_ he had said.

My eyes reduced to mere malicious slits and I glared heatedly at him.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" I gagged out, disbelieving my ears. Of all the things he could've said, of all the ways to start a conversation, to make a first impression on me, a stranger, a newcomer, he had to ask me something so . . . _preposterous_! Not to mention it was completely uncalled for and out of the blue. He shrugged and smirked at me in amusement, shattering what little backbone I grew for a second, making the only thing I could register the racing repeating thought in my head: _ohmigod, he smirked at me, he smirked at me, he smirked at me . . .!_

"It seems to me you have difficulty breathing and the other thing I could've asked would make heads turn our way." His expression changed to a demure smile that held a very impish glitter in it that made me whip my head forward sharply otherwise he would've noticed the pink flush that had all of a sudden risen to my face. Of all the years I lived, incapable of blushing, of my face adorning with any other colour than its natural faint white one, I had to choose _today_ to start flushing. God hates me, it's official now.

I could still see with my periphery vision that his handsome face still held that evil grin as he continued looking at me, obviously aware how uncomfortable that made me and _enjoying torturing my petty self_. I think his sudden interest in me that sparked out of no where in particular made me feel more claustrophobic than when he was ignoring me. My hands were in tremors but _thank goodness_ under the desk in my lap so he couldn't see that. I had my poker face on, but I knew my determination would falter any moment. Wouldn't _yours_ if you had the object of your desire for _four entire years_ sit next to you, staring at you the same unwavering way you looked at him during all those times, thinking he'd _never _as much as acknowledge your existence? Then imagine he finally does . . . What can you possibly do to make your rapidly beating heart cease because your breath wouldn't ease any other way? Tell me just _how_ would _you_ react in my place?

The bell rang faintly in the back of my mind, meekly registered at all, pulling me out of my misery as Mr. Piccolo said we (maggots was the word he used . . . as unprofessional as it seemed to me . . .) are free to go since he didn't want to see our 'mugs' for the remaining part of the day. And _that_ was truly my cue to leave.

I grabbed my backpack which I have _no idea_ why I brought anymore, or what I carried inside of it since he _still_ wouldn't let go of me with those haunting dark eyes of his, reducing my mind to a jumble of fleeting insignificant _ideas _of thoughts, and I stormed out of the classroom in most dignified way I could muster, my mask shattering in millions of pieces once I was sure I was out of his sight. My cheeks burnt, my limbs were numb from the monstrous amount of blood that coursed through them every second with every intermittent pump of my heart, and my legs felt like jelly and rather unstable as if I'd fall down any second after each stride I made. But thank goodness none of my fears came true and I was soon inside my house, the door slamming behind me, kicked shut in a bad habit of mine built for years and years, and I was finally free to collapse head-first in my pillow and beg the Gods for mercy on my wretched stalker's soul for the vengeance with which they punished my sins. Oh, please, please, don't let him be so adorable and arousing tomorrow, oh, please, please, please . . . I don't know how much longer I can hold on until I break down in front of him, or even worse – jump him . . .

* * *

Seeing how the girl got flustered after his comment caused Vegeta to grin widely inwardly, wondering how it was that he had never had _this_ much fun annoying any other of his conquests. It was true; last year had been a complete success concerning his sexually frustrated body, and more specifically an organ below his midriff he hadn't used properly until then, that yearned for release granted by something different than his hand . . . Even before he was a teaser and he showed it during his intercourses too, though his bed mates never really showed any signs they minded it or anything . . .

But now with this girl it was too much fun. She had this . . . how could he call it? She had this steadfast expression on her face with determination not to fall for his charms that he didn't even have to work on to catch a girl's attention usually. She had deliberately _ignored_ his _presence_ and he had been _right next to her_. Now that was something he didn't see every day, and naturally, it caught his attention.

However, when this Bulma person finally spoke, it was exultation for his rotten soul which enjoyed other's pain when she looked at him as if he had just slapped her ass. She was so amusing and in the same time so stiff and tense. She needed to relax. Besides, she didn't look like she had many friends . . .

Getting up in a swift graceful move Bulma would've surely appreciated highly, he ventured over to a small group of people, an evil scheme in his mind already . . .

* * *

An hour after the initial impact with the 'boy of her dreams', the heiress was finally able to bash herself out of all obtrusive daydreams and insidious fantasies that made her heart and knees wobble slightly and she managed to maintain control over her whole body and assure herself that next time she met him she would be prepared better and wouldn't let him know _a thing_ about how easily he could use her, how she could be just like jelly in his hands . . . Nodding at the last thought, she departed from her bedroom towards the nearest kitchen for something to drink and feast on in light of her decision.

However, she didn't go really far as her foot froze in mid-air when she heard moving downstairs. And when she said movement, she meant _many_ people moving downstairs. Her father didn't have any friends anymore, nor did he have living relatives, and Bulma was the incarnation of unsociability, meaning naturally she had no friends either. As a matter of fact, a few people she had met during her life-span reached barely a level where they would tolerate her eternal grumpiness, stillness or her perpetual glare that wouldn't leave her features. But right then and there wasn't really the time or place to think about such things as a burglar had made the grave mistake of robbing the wrong house when there were a few hours till twilight too . . .

She moved slowly down the stairs and then she caught a glimpse of an erect flame-like hairdo and she recognized him immediately, notwithstanding that her tension didn't lift a bit and she even grew stiffer if it was humanly possible.

_What's _he_ doing here?_ The question crowded her mind and repeated in it over and over frantically, making her incapable of doing anything other than ogling at him, trying desperately to think fast of a course of action. He was looking around for something (or someone) and he hadn't yet figured she was standing on the edge of the stairs. When she gathered her wits and cut his path short just as he was going to take the way for the kitchen she had been headed to, he glared at her for a split second before crossing his arms.

"You should place maps in here – someone can get seriously lost," he informed her nonchalantly, motioning for the entrance of her huge compound of a house. She looked incredulously at him as if he had just groped her. Even though she tried to maintain her serious posture her mouth was slightly agape as she mimicked his stance and glared viciously back at him.

"How the hell did you get in here?" she snapped when she finally brought her vocal cords back online and actually capable of doing what they were created for. He lifted his dark eye brows at her as she had just told him the most surprising thing he had ever heard and he looked over his shoulder for a bit to make sure the entrance was still there.

"You know, people have those things called _doors_," he said the word slowly as if talking to a retarded child, making the female cock her head to the side in ire. "And I came through that one." He pointed over his powerful shoulder with his thumb striking out of his fist, making Bulma's glare intensify and her jaw shift as her irritation obviously grew. She took a deep breath to calm herself down before she retorted,

"Oh really, you did that?" He nodded off-handily, being one to hate repeating himself and taking a gilded trophy from the nearest shelf, studying it closely and obviously enjoying himself before the girl ripped it out of his grasp and placed it back where it belonged, making his attention return to her once more. "Honestly, I don't care _how_ you got _in_, but I have a _very_ good idea how you're going _out_." She was about to do as she threatened when he smirked at her in that way that sent her in delirium.

"Don't be so taut, I doubt it's healthy," he said, all the while smirking when he did. He turned his head away from her to the left, inserting two fingers in his mouth, whistling loud enough for the sound to reach the third story probably. Bulma glared heatedly at him for his audacity but it did not end there; oh most certainly it did not. He had to bellow atop his lungs, "Kakarot! I found her!" and almost break her ear drums before she realized that his first exclamation had to be a name.

"What the hell was that for?" she screeched incredulously, her arms stiff by her sides.

"You don't want them all over your house for the time being, do you? They're worse than cock roaches, I swear . . ." He chuckled, making her blood freeze in her veins for various reasons . . .

"Did you just say . . . _them_?" He nodded curtly, making Bulma's heart sink when she, indeed, heard people laughing approaching them, chit-chatting about something that they obviously found amusing. She slowly turned around to be met with her worst fear – a gang of strangers, all weird looking and making you doubt whether their mental health was fine at first impression . . . especially the guy with the hair all over the place . . .

"Whoa, Bulma, you certainly have a big house," the person in question said, running a strong hand through his thick unruly spikes.

"Yeah, I can easily find myself loving this place," the raven-haired girl next to him said with a toothy smirk which moved to the heiress. And our favourite inheritress herself was quite awestruck, if a word could even begin to cover the state of shock she was in.

You see, she had never been really social, what with the news of her mother's suicide all over the media and her father's aftermath newly discovered schizophrenia . . . Well let's just say people weren't really willing to talk to her, probably thinking all she'd do would be piss and moan about how fucked up her life was . . . but even back then no one knew her and they didn't even want to. She didn't blame them – if she was in their place she wouldn't want to know herself either! But that wasn't the point there, now was it? What mattered was that she had no social contacts, no one cared about her anymore and _no one_ called her by her first name . . .

. . . And yet here were those . . . those _strangers_, barging into _Capsule Corporation_ main building without any guards seizing them? And then again, those people didn't even look like they cared! Hell, they had the face of someone who just won a million dollars! Probably never seen a house _this_ big, which was understandable, because— _No, no, no!_ she screamed in her mind as it had trailed off in a completely different direction than the task she had on hand. Composing herself, she glared venomous daggers at those guys, even though a part of her, a part deep, _deep_, inside of her was touched by their attention and that they cared enough to come and see her in person for god-knows-what ridiculous reason.

"Look, I have no idea what the hell has got into those heads of yours, but I think you had your fun around here and it's about time you leave." She planned on pushing all of them out through the door, but instead got caught by the two girls present by her wrists and placed to sit on her couch . . . and not by her own free will, I should add.

"Man, Vegeta said you were stiff, but this goes beyond any boundaries, gal!" the blonde exclaimed with a coy evil grin.

"Yeah, you're almost as grumpy and short-tempered as he is!" The raven haired one laughed at her own joke, but Bulma didn't miss the sour look her dream man sent the amused female.

"If you try to do anything to me, I swear I'm going to scream so hard your ears will ring for months—"

"Aw, now don't be like that, Bulma." The strange-haired guy sat on the arm of the chair she was residing. She glared up at him with a firm scowl. He got up fast and decided that standing was a better idea . . .

"You should just relax and open up to people a little bit." A bald guy crouched down next to her (not that he wasn't short enough to be barely a few inches taller than her chair . . .) as he spoke.

"I don't even know you and you have the _decency_ to tell me _what I should and should not do in my own freaking house_?" The heiress gave him a disbelieving look, making the other boy shrink back as well.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! She's a little spitfire, ladies and gentlemen . . ." Vegeta licked his bottom lip with a smirk after his comment and the sitting prey-to-be wasn't sure what to make of that. All she knew was that the tangled mush in her gut that had formed when she had first laid eyes on him made a painful wrench after the warm stab she received when initially hearing him speak. And his attitude right then didn't really help much for the growing heat between her thighs that she usually felt when seeing him (and especially this close).

"You can be really fun, girl! Don't be a spoil-sport. Come with us and we'll show you the great life filled with friendly joy and solitude!" The short bald guy had gathered his wits to talk again once Bulma's steaming glare had been smothered some by his flame-haired buddy.

"Although our clique is not really the best choice if it's peace and solitude you look for." The blonde and the brunette shared a sly glance before turning to their apprentice.

"What are you talking about?" Bulma finally managed to squeeze out between her numb lips. It wasn't _her_ fault he just stood there, arms crossed, staring at her as if she was his _meal_! "I don't—"

"Of course you don't mean any of that, sweetie," the azure eyed light-haired girl smoothed her back, somehow leaving a feeling of mockery . . . "You're just a bit confused right now, but when the night's over, you'll feel a completely new person! Not to mention a bit more sociable too!" She chuckled and got up from the chair. "Now to introduce ourselves properly, because you'll just keep looking at us as if we come from outer space. I'm Juuhachigou Jinzoningen; it's a pleasure to meet you in person, miss Big-shot." Even though it should've sounded as jealous and greedy as Bulma was used to hear it, though not as frankly as the blonde had said it, this time it held no such emotion. It sounded more like the joke it was meant as . . .

"I'm Krillin Roshi and I believe I should introduce myself rightly after my girlfriend." The bald guy shook her hand politely, placing his free one on his _obviously_ taller girlfriend's waist.

"Goku Son and I _love_ your fridge!" The comment would've made her chuckle had it not been for her mouth hanging open and her hand that everyone seemed so keen to shake was as lifeless as her whole body felt. What the—? Who the—? How in _Hell_ did they—? _The _nerve_ of those people!_

"I'm ChiChi Mau and I really think we should've called before we got here . . ." The mid-short brunette said as she sent a glare towards this Goku person. Well, _duh_, at least _one_ of them had to sport some _brain_ activity!

What happened next struck her into an even deeper state of shock than before, though it could barely show on her already awestricken face . . .

Vegeta moved to stand right in front of her, making her look up at him.

"Hnh . . . Even though I find this completely useless since _everyone_ in the school has at least heard of me," oh, she had _heard_ of him alright . . . "but for the sake of the fact you'll be my desk-_mate_," was he implying something or it was just her, "I'm Vegeta Ouji." His hand moved forward for what she assumed (with a brain freeze) would be a handshake, but his limb cradled her chin instead and he gently pushed it up (closed) and she noted with a degree of immense self-consciousness that it had been slightly agape for a while. His smirk, from such a close proximity, looked even more dazzling . . . Oh, the _agonizing soul-twisting close proximity to his body!_

Bulma's stark mind and body weren't really sure whether to be thankful for Juuhachigou's hand that slapped the back of Vegeta's head and made him glare at her heatedly but it was worth the diversion to try and gather what remaining control she had over her body and try to bring it to function again. I mean, here were those people, _those absolute strangers_, barging _inside her house_, literally, and preaching of friendship and togetherness with them, those people she had _never met before in her life before today in the classroom _. . . They had to be as nuts as her mother . . . There was no other logical explanation to that . . .

"Stop hitting on her, you horny asshole! Don't you see she's in stupor?" The blonde's voice grew solid with anger directed at her friend who glared as maliciously back at her.

"Yes, and you have your share for causing it!" Bulma jumped to her feet suddenly, startling most occupants of the spacious living room connected with a small corridor to the front entrance of the house. "What the hell do you want? I don't even know you and you're already roaming free in my _home_? When's the last time you had a mental check in the hospital?"

"We're just a bit too rash when taking decisions." Krillin shrugged nonchalantly.

"I prefer the term 'spontaneous' to 'rash' . . ." the Goku person offered friendlily.

"Yeah and you looked like you could use some socializing lessons from us." ChiChi smiled sympathetically.

"Why didn't you wait until _tomorrow_ when we would meet _decently?_" The cerulean haired girl exclaimed her question in a nearly shrill voice that she hadn't heard from herself in some time now . . .

"Oh, we _hate_ the school and meeting with people in it." Goku explained.

"What? And just why _the hell_ so?" Bulma's head whipped in his direction.

"Because most of the people in our class play roles in school, as goes the same for about any student in that shit hole," Vegeta clarified for her, making her arch a disbelieving eye-brow.

"You're kidding, right?" He rolled his midnight eyes. No, he wasn't . . .

"It's better to meet people in their natural environment."

"I'm not some wild animal to be met in my _natural environment_ . . ." the blue-haired girl hissed. Goku patted her back with enough strength that could've knocked her off her feet had she not been seated already.

"And you just passed the test for normality." He tittered carelessly.

"I passed what?" she muttered dubiously while staring vacantly forward.

"Don't be such a wowser! Get on your feet and let's get going!" Krillin exclaimed, motioning everyone towards the door.

"Where are we going?" Bulma asked alarmed as the two girls grabbed both her elbows and were ready to drag her out of the compound if need be.

"We're celebrating our meeting and seeing how much you can take." Juuhachi nodded to herself and to the cerulean eyed girl next to her.

"How much _what_ I can take?" She already feared the answer.

"Alcohol, of course! We can't have you puking your guts out when we get you to your first party as a senior in high school! You're a star, girl! You skipped a grade and did the impossible! We can't have outsiders seeing you hurl on parties!" ChiChi laughed.

"Besides, you'll have loads of fun, trust us!" Goku assured her after they found the key on the table in the small corridor and have locked the door to the compound – something even Bulma herself rarely did . . . simply because she couldn't bring herself to care.

Swallowing dryly, the heiress wondered just what she had involved herself in . . .

* * *

However, at the end of the night, she couldn't deny – she had the time of her life that night. Hell, she even knew how to play pool now! Even though, that didn't slide by pricelessly . . . She had another one of those heart-stopping moments when Vegeta leant nearly over her, trying to straighten her posture.

On the whole way towards the gang's usual hang out place Bulma had walked next to Vegeta and their bare shoulders (_Curse this good weather! Why, why of _all_ years this once had to have such a warm autumn!_) touching briefly ever so often. Though the boy seemed to be quite ignorant of the innocent impact that repeated time and time again, Bulma's heart was in a knot of nerves that wrenched around it every time her skin touched his flesh, making her grow goosebumps. Again, she was thankful he wasn't paying much attention to anything else but the path in front of him; otherwise she would have turned bright red if their eyes so much as met . . .

When they got to the place, it was already twilight outside because they had so much fun talking, laughing and everything on their way over. They began with a harried explanation of the game objectives for Bulma who had never even seen a pool table in her life, and Vegeta, being her partner in the game (no one noticed that the moment they served her the news she had gripped at her pool stick like cringing to a lifeline), had taught her how to play properly, being the sore loser he was. And, as he had mentioned, Vegeta Ouji _never_ lost a game, no matter the kind.

And he had been right. Bulma proved to be quite a prodigy at this and her efforts proved worth it when she saw Vegeta's exultant expression as well as the odd sparkle in his eyes. She had smiled distantly, drifting off in thought, trying to print in the image in her mind to treasure . . .

Then they had started drinking, making the heiress try all sorts of alcoholic drinks she had never heard of in her life and, after the third shot of whatever, she found every following glass sweet as melon. Of course, at the end of the night, she looked dead-drunk, but she was finally able to smile for all of them without a second thought. She had also recovered from her initial shyness and finally confided in their madness as well.

All in all, it was one heck of a night . . .

* * *

I staggered across my room with the last remains of my drifting consciousness as it had taken quite some nerve to stay dignified along the guys, slumping on my bed and collapsing on my back instantly upon impact. I can say it aloud (though it will be later when I can actually talk coherently) that this was officially the best day in my entire life-time.

At first I have to admit I was both baffled and annoyed by those people's audacity and boldness at coming to the house of a complete stranger and the fact they were so sure of themselves and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer only managed to tick me off to a certain degree, but then I actually thought about it clearly . . . I mean, just realizing that they cared enough about an alien in their class, on their last year of high school nonetheless, to come and try to cheer me up and lead me in this entirely new world void of loneliness and boredom and darkness . . . It was so touching and it made me feel . . . human, for the first time in my life . . .

They didn't pity me and they didn't envy me – the two behaviours towards me that I was used to. They just wanted me to be a part of their fun, to let go of my worries and relax . . . And when I did they didn't disappoint me. I know it already that I love those people, truly, I do . . . And I think that I have finally attained this thing that people like to call 'friends' . . . and my heart is swimming with joy.

Oh, who am I fooling? The guys are great, perfect! But I'm still me – the spoilt selfish rich girl and all I could think about was that I was close to Vegeta, for the first time in my life, for the first time since I got to obsessed . . . He even touched me, though not with the intentions I (am not too sure) wanted him to. We got befriended, something I would've never honestly thought would happen to me yesterday night . . . Who knows, maybe tomorrow . . . maybe tomorrow (speaking purely metaphorically, of course!) we could even get closer than just friends . . . After all, last night I had never been within a few feet distance to him, and now I could call him Vegeta, as freely as I wished, knowing he would turn his head around from whatever he was doing just to see what I was 'bothering him about' . . . because he's _my friend _. . .

This is the happiest day of my life . . .

* * *

**After Chapter Note About Their School's Policy:**

Orange Star High, in this fic, is a high specialized school where people enter different classes in which they study one subject more than all others. The school has five specialties: two math-centered classes (A and B), one physics class (C), two biology classes (D and E), two chemistry classes (F and G) and one geography class (H). What does this strengthened subjects studying consist in? Well, for an example, if the biologists have five math classes in eighth grade a week, like all other regular schools, the mathematicians have ten, and vice versa – if the biologists have three biology classes a week in eight grade, the mathematicians have two – like all regular schools. It isn't only the fact that in OSH they have more classes – their level is entirely different to that of your every day public high school. To enter it in the first place students have to take two exams – an easy math exam and an exam on the subject they want to master: the biologists take biology; the physicists take physics et cetera, et cetera. Even though the first exam is easy, the second makes most students break a sweat.

Graduates have to take another exam to receive their diplomas and anyone who takes the final exam with an A can enter any University in the country they wish. Also, their twelfth grade is more like their first year in University more than anything, and that's the reason most of OSH students have an easy freshman year after high school. What makes it impossible to skip a grade is the fact, especially in eleventh, that physicists have a really hard time – though mathematicians are renowned to be the smartest in their school, the physicists have to know as much as they do and to be able to apply it in their exercises. All in all, eleventh grade is when you take two ordinary high school grades – eleventh and twelve, so that the following year you can have the first of University's. It is purely ridiculous that any normal human can skip, because the teachers are already applying inhumane pressure with the physics studies. That's why everyone was so baffled to know they have a new class-mate, who has _skipped_.

* * *


	3. Teasing Sneeze

* * *

I have never _ever_ in my life been a person to like changes, especially vicissitude ones. But then again, it was a case I wasn't given a say in. It was _them_ barging in into my house. And, let's face it – me not throwing them out the moment I saw them.

And even though I hated changes so much, I couldn't deny – being a part of a clique was . . . an attractive thought to my lonely depressed self. It was more of a relief perhaps from all the internal pain of watching him from afar for so long, many and extremely long years of hankering after him and his group of friends around him, wishing to be one of them . . . that the moment it came true, I could hardly realize it.

But now time has passed. It's been over a month, and I finally feel myself . . . I don't know . . . as a part of a _whole_ . . .

And it feels great.

* * *

Sitting by Vegeta, the object of all my desires, has many pros and cons. The biggest con is that, no matter how good I get at trying to bring myself to act normal around him – I never manage. But then again, the biggest pro is that . . . Well, he doesn't exactly _like_ me even, in the friendly kind of way, but at least he _tolerates_ me. It's a huge step further in Vegeta-ish, so I learnt, since he doesn't even tolerate many people and he likes _no one_, as he informed me himself once.

We're in the same clique, we're sitting together all the time, but we rarely even talk to each other. It is truly strange . . . to you, I could guess. To me it's a miracle I'm even just _sitting with him_ on the same desk. It makes me both happy and uncomfortable at the same time. It's a strange sensation, yet one I'm quite used to by now. I have had to grow used to many things about now . . . So many sudden changes brought upon my life, so much havoc wreaked over my every day life by five teenagers . . .

And even though we weren't exactly _close_ with Vegeta, I felt truly honored and grateful for all the occasions that he so much as acknowledged my existence . . .

. . . But after all, it is one's duty as a friend, is it not . . .?

* * *

Sighing deeply in both annoyance and exhaustion before she had even begun, Bulma crouched down into a start position for a fifty meter dash. She had always despised physical education class and she could hardly figure what being a physicist had to do with having physical education till the end of her wretched days at the god-forsaken hell hole of a high school, so she had given up on trying thinking her way out of the riddle. Teachers hated them, full stop.

Another reason for her to hate physical education class and especially the fifty meter dash was that she sucked at sprinting. She hadn't improved much ever since she entered the school and she didn't give any signs of getting any better any time soon either. It was a vicious circle of her caring only about improving her mind power and daydreaming about Vegeta (what with her new seating next to him being a completely alien concept and quite the fantasy-stirrer) that didn't let her spare any time for her body.

She was glad that at least the whole class had run by now and she was the last one left. There was one con though – all of them had run in pairs: two girls, two boys. She was left with no one to run with as ChiChi took on Juu and Launch ran with Videl. As you see, the girls weren't many either way. But that didn't matter a bit as the fact prevailed – Bulma had no one to race with. Sure, she could run on her own, but it wasn't the same . . . She had always had competitive character and she was sure if she had, if she _just_ had whom to race, she could give better results . . . probably . . .

She looked forward to the teacher but felt someone crouching next to her only to make her whole body silent enough to hear her own heartbeat in that exact moment.

"What the—" she began, yet had no time to finish at all, too dumbstruck and interrupted.

"I won't run too fast for you, woman, I promise I'll be just ahead of you with a millisecond or two." He smirked almost making her feet collapse beneath her. "Besides, you don't look like someone who runs fast in the first place."

She could swear she heard water splashing or glass breaking in her head, and she felt as if both had happened to her. The comment felt as if a bucket of freezing water was poured over her and her nice little repulsing-sweet girly reverie was broken in thousands of tiny shards.

"Oh, do I?" she hissed between tightly clenched teeth and her finger tips sunk deeper into the asphalt as Vegeta just kept grinning maliciously to himself, head forward, as was hers now. She might not be the fastest runner out there, but she'd be damned before _he_ humiliated her. It wasn't as if there was something so particular about him making fun of her . . . It was the fact she wasn't used to _hearing_ people making fun of her and, well . . . it had to do with her liking him for so long that she thought there should be at least some solidarity on his behalf towards her.

. . . Of course, she knew that he was completely oblivious to her case and she was quite thankful for it, but that was a different matter. She would not be humiliated, and especially not by him, and that was that!

That day, Bulma ran the fastest in her whole life, giving Vegeta quite a hard time keeping his promise to her as he was caught completely off-guard.

After the dash, the girl collapsed on her knees and hands, salty droplets of sweat cascading down the sides of her face, her breath in frequent sharp gasps as her heart rate had increased immensely because of the strenuous work of her muscles during the sprint. Vegeta's breathing was also slightly laboured as he sat himself on the concrete, watching his antagonist take a rest.

He smirked. Making her run that fast was worth the sight of her terribly flushed cheeks, a thing completely in contrast to the snowy white they were usually tinted in, and her rapidly rising and falling bosom.

His smirk shifted into an evil grin immediately. Maybe he could race her in the three hundred meter cross as well?

* * *

Friday afternoon; the last bell after the ninth class has rung for the day, dismissing the diligent (and not so diligent) pupils from any duties to the facility until next Monday.

Bulma sighed heavily, collecting her things into her bag as she remembered she had to work with her father on a project tonight. A tight frown grasped her facial features, turning them into an exasperated expression as the girl reminded herself of the last time she had worked together with her father. Let's just say 'disaster' was a complete understatement. And the thought of another encounter like it made her shudder in anxiety for the state her nerves would be left in afterward. She was getting tired enough from school and she didn't really _need_ to exhaust herself further by dealing with her father . . .

Just as she was placing the last notebook in her sack she noticed the vast shadow that had fallen over her whole form. Her frown only intensified and her eyes searched up the cause of this uncalled for eclipse.

What stood before her was a complete foreign figure of a tall broad-shouldered bald boy who stared at her in a very unnerving way. She gritted her teeth in ire. Who the hell was that guy and what did he think he was doing, eyeing her as if she was his dinner, or even worse? Damned hormone driven teenagers and their goddamned urges.

"Hello there, little one. How come I never saw you before?" His voice was as hideous as his face, she deduced immediately. And as sly too, she added and turned her attention away from the burly guy. Maybe if she ignored him, like how they advise you to play dead if you see a bear (and he could quite well qualify as a bear), he'd just leave her alone. No such luck . . . "Are you this smart chick that skipped? I never thought a girl could be smart and pretty at the same time." He slurred his words in what he thought was a seductive murmur—perhaps—yet to Bulma all the effects it produced was make a bile rise in her throat.

"As far as I'm concerned no one else has skipped a grade in this school before and I have to agree – you definitely don't look or sound like someone who has had a lot of experience with women." Her expressionless face was probably one of the things that made the boy even angrier as she said this to him. She was completely impassive to her statement, acting as if he wasn't around at all. As for if you're wondering, she had changed her mind from ignoring to lashing back so fast for one and solely one reason. If there was one thing she hated being called, that was 'chick'. What an utterly disgusting word, really!

"What did you say?" His voice boomed at her, turning several heads towards the scene. The girl seemed unfazed as she vulgarly stuck her pinkie finger into her earlobe as if to clean it.

"The fact you're deaf doesn't give you the right to deafen others too, if you please," she said as she stood up, throwing her backpack over her shoulder with the full intention of sidestepping him and proceeding towards her home. She usually was in no hurry to do so, but she definitely preferred the intimidating tranquility of her lurid room to the loudmouthed bastard in front of her.

"Who the hell do you think you are, small fry? I could easily crush you if I so much as wished to and you dare talk back to me!" he exclaimed in fury yet his rage still seemed unimpressive to the half a meter shorter girl.

"Now, if you do that you'd prove just _how_ pathetic you really are, almighty." She frowned uninterested at his frame as she circled him and was so close to finally being out of his range before he crossed her path again, making her growl at him. "Move out of my damn way!" She snapped angrily for the first time since she met the repulsing figure, already fed up with his presence near her. The guy just snickered merrily at her, refusing to obey her demand.

"Aren't you a pesky one?" he asked rhetorically even though she doubted he could tell you what a rhetorical question was if you asked him. All of a sudden his gigantic arms were no longer by his side yet around her shoulders, stopping her from going anywhere. Upon the impact, her knees wobbled slightly by the sheer weight of the colossal limbs on her shoulders, her legs not used to the additional pressure. She was about to start kicking and yelling at him when a voice interrupted the burly boy's assault towards her.

"Nappa, if you make me late I'm going to rip you to pieces."

Bulma's cerulean eyes and head turned to glance at her Prince in Shining Armor. And indeed, he was _her_ Prince in shining armor.

Vegeta cracked his knuckles as he approached the pair and his persistent glare, wondrously, made Nappa, as Bulma figured was her attacker's name, cower back and let his hold on her slip.

"I was just—"

"You were just pissing me off, trying to soothe some of your inferiority complexes by going all high and mighty on a skinny girl." Hm . . . he regarded her skinny?

"But, Prince, she started it first! She—" It obviously wasn't Nappa's day for finishing any sentences.

"She twisted your arm behind your back? She kneed you in the gut? Punched you in the face?"

"No, but—"

"_Then what the hell are you whining to me about? _Get moving or I'll get you to move myself!" In no time at all, the taller boy had nodded and dashed out of the room to wherever the two were going.

Bulma sighed in exhaustion. She couldn't have dealt with that bastard even a second longer and her temper had been close—too close—to boiling point. She watched subtly as Vegeta retreated towards the door, still very much annoyed with his friend—or whatever that ape was to him—but she didn't miss the fact he stopped right over the threshold, his hand still on the door frame, though his body was leaning forward. He seemed in thought and she barely blinked as she observed him. Maybe he forgot something under the desk . . . Nah, she checked, there was nothing there.

Just as she was about to start pondering what was it that had stopped him in mid-air like that, he leant back inside the room, his onyx eyes locking with hers. The girl blinked her discomfort away as she just observed his actions. In the next second he was smirking devilishly, wordlessly making her know he had heard the entire confrontation. And then he . . . he winked at her before he disappeared out the door.

What he left behind was a very flustered girl once he was gone, her hand to her chest and her cheeks slightly redder than normal.

If he could do _that_ to her by just winking . . . She didn't want to finish that thought.

* * *

Bulma shut the door to the silver Skoda Octavia after she had exited her house to find the residents of the car quite sleepy with the spiky-haired driver leaning in over the wheel with his arms crisscrossed over each other. She looked at him in a puzzled matter, then checking on Goku and Juuhachigou. Goku had already strapped himself with the backseat belt (which was very uncomfortable of an accessory and rarely anyone used it, yet the strange-haired boy seemed not to mind it at all) and Juuhachigou was discreetly clinging to her door's handle.

"What's wrong with you two and how come I, who got in last, do the honours of sitting in the passenger seat?" the cerulean-haired girl inquired interested listening as the engine's purr when Vegeta turned the ignition key.

"You didn't seem to mind sitting next to me in school." Vegeta threw in sarcastically as he pulled out of Capsule Corporation's driveway.

"Did I say I mind? I just asked a question, jeez." Bulma rolled her eyes and looked out her window, trying to hide the fact that her eyes were shifting nervously to Vegeta at the sound of his voice. She didn't mean to upset him . . . She slapped herself mentally. She might like him, she might obsess over him but she would not be reduced to a blathering weakling because of him, even if it was only in her mind!

"You're in the front because you screwed yourself to get in last." Goku laughed at her but his chuckle soon evaporated as Vegeta's foot pushed the gas pedal closer to the floor.

"I hope these text books prices are worth it . . ." Juuhachigou muttered, looking out her window, her fingers laced with the door handle still, indifferent eyes glancing over the impossibly fast changing scenery.

"Why do we have to go as far as the next city to have text books only a dollar cheaper?" Bulma couldn't understand and Goku noted worriedly that she still hadn't strapped herself with her seatbelt.

"Not all of us are the richest people in the world." Juuhachigou noted with boredom in her monotonous voice.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound that way . . ." Bulma muttered guiltily. It was true – none of her current friends were as rich as she was. She had to get used to it, being tactful that is. She had never had to take anyone else's feelings in mind but her own and it was another sudden change in her life . . . She didn't want to offend those people. God, she already loved them! So, deciding that changing the topic was the best idea for the case, she asked, "Where are ChiChi and Krillin?"

"No place in the car for the two of them. Or at least that's what they excuse themselves with every time they have to ride in Vegeta's car," the blonde explained, taking a glimpse at the driver's vicious smirk, a sweat drop sliding down the side of her face.

"Why? What's their problem with Vegeta's car?" Bulma blinked, still not understanding that the boy in question was already well over several miles per hour over the limits.

"ChiChi said she can buy her books from Western Capital anyway and Krillin gets sick from high velocities . . ." Goku clarified sheepishly.

"High velocities? And just how high must a velocity be to have someone sick?" Bulma asked mockingly, barely catching a glimpse at Vegeta's smirk before his foot sunk deeper on the gas pedal.

As it came out, Bulma was the only person in the gang to like Vegeta's style of driving – reckless-looking, intolerably fast and quite dangerous, no matter how you looked at it . . .

And _that_ made Vegeta smirk once again. She liked his _high speeds_, eh? They would get along quite well, he sensed . . .

* * *

Classes tended to get quite dull at times, but that was no excuse for Vegeta leaning back on his chair during math class, his eyes closed completely to the world.

Bulma took a glance at him every once in a while, wondering how long would his impudence last before the teacher caught him slacking off. To tell you the truth, their math teacher was a fiend. She had once been a principle for about a month or two but her tyranny hadn't lasted long since no one liked the new rules she had tried to imply on both teachers and students.

Vegeta looked exhausted. The bags under his eyes were so obvious that it almost hurt her every time she looked at him. He hadn't written a single thing in his notebook . . . Scribbling as fast and as readable as she could, Bulma waited for the teacher to turn her back at them to snatch something from in front of him on the desk and place another in its place . . .

"Mr. Ouji, why don't you read the answer to the equation we have all been solving?" The harpy's voice was shrill and strident, but the boy was probably already fast asleep with his head fallen slightly back as if to stare at the ceiling. Bulma's eye brows narrowed in exasperated concern.

"Vegeta!" she whispered as husky as she could in the palm which supported her head so that the teacher couldn't hear her. Suddenly, the boy's eyes snapped open and he glared at her from his unchanged position. Her eyes shifted forward to motion for him to look at the teacher. He did so without rushing himself a bit.

"The equation, Mr. Ouji?" The teacher grinned maliciously, knowing there couldn't possibly be a way for him to answer her question – he had been sleeping (or meditating?) during the entire class and if someone tried to help him, she would punish them for sure. This boy had to learn not to slack off during her class and he would learn that lesson one way or another.

Before he opened his mouth to snap at the beast, he felt his desk mate's knee collide with his and his eyes whipped back to her angrily. This time she motioned beneath his arms. And when he glanced down he found the answer to the question. And it came out to be the correct one.

Huffing angrily, the math teacher turned on her heel and started writing on the black board again while the boy stared baffled at the girl next to him. With a heart-warming smile (and in a reverie, if we have to be honest), Bulma switched their notebooks again and murmured a, "You're welcome any time" to him before she resumed writing.

. . . He didn't know what to think of that.

* * *

All sorts of such encounters occurred during the whole year . . . All in all, nothing serious or special. Small happenings that gave me more material to daydream about . . . Everything was so innocent (as innocent can be after all the atrocious thoughts of mine directed at a certain spiky-haired boy's address) . . . Until . . .

* * *

I waited with the guys outside of school, all of us getting ready to split up and go home. I said my good-byes, wondering absent-mindedly where Vegeta was. Just as I was passing the front fence, my question was answered.

I moved behind a tree in a thief on the job fashion, curious eyes staring wide at the pair before me.

He had a girl entangled around his body with her arms around his strong neck as he had pressed her against a tree further away from the one I hid behind. Their lips were moving against each other fiercely . . . I could faintly hear the girl's moans as one of his hands pressed her tighter to him, closer to his body, to the heat he emitted.

I was disgusted with myself for being so pathetic, for looking at this . . . I was repulsed by the fact that it made the heavy heat in my stomach burn ablaze again like every time I imagined him over me . . . I couldn't part my eyes from them, their mouths, as I wondered what it would be if it was me there with him . . . I wanted him to touch me like that so badly . . . I wanted to be the one to moan beneath him, to groan his name as he moved against me, touched my body with his massive hands . . .

I hated myself for not being able to stop even as the girl's hands detached from his neck and wandered down towards his belt. Did this arouse him? Could I ever arouse him as much as this nameless bimbo could? I could already feel the heat rising in my cheeks but did a great job in ignoring it and I leant forward into the tree, suddenly incapable of any more self-repulsion. I was already on the train to Bashful Virgin Land of Sexual Frustration, on the ride "Pull my body out of its misery, Vegeta!" . . . Yes, you know it now – I'm done for . . .

Suddenly they parted and he shrugged her off of him. I blinked and realized he was coming this way, his hands in his pockets as he took step after step, each seeming more menacing than the other to my sinned self. I was a terrible person . . . There wasn't anyone else in the world who could possibly be as disgusting as I was.

Yet I couldn't move. If I ran, he'd see me and know immediately I have been staring at him and his girlfriend . . . He was looking right at me . . . He had already found me out . . .

"What are _you_ doing here?" His eye brows narrowed slightly as he stopped in mid-air when he noticed me behind the tree. My body stiffened at the annoyed tone of his voice. "Weren't you going home?"

"Er, ehhh . . ." There you have it – Bulma Briefs, the _genius!_ And _that_ is all a genius can come up with? I was _so_ incredibly pathetic! "I was going on my way home but I remembered that I have to, um . . ." It was _some_ improvement! Give me a break! I was caught red-handed in something horrible! Even _my_ mind couldn't think _that_ fast in such a situation. How about _you_ tell your secret friend-crush that you have been staring shamelessly at him making out with his girlfriend thinking how you'll feel if he were to screw _you_? Oh, man, it sounds even _more_ terrible when you say it that way . . . I felt so embarrassed . . .

Suddenly he smirked at me and reclined toward me, his hand resting above my head to support him against the tree.

"Were you watching me?" he asked slyly, making my face fill with colour. I know it, I could feel it . . . My cheeks were red, my cheeks were red, my cheeks were _so_ red . . . ! I was so flustered! I felt like a caged animal. I was completely in panic. I wanted to escape him, to dodge him, to get away from this situation. I wanted to hide from him; I didn't want him to see my face any longer with that expression of his . . . My heart was thumping intermittently against my chest, it was almost about to burst through. The blood was pulsing through my entire being, making me feel even hotter in my clothes.

"Of course . . . I . . . wasn't . . ." My head barely registered that my voice was getting quieter and quieter with every word that exited my mouth as his head came closer and closer to mine. He was still smirking in that way that made my whole being shudder in desire and my knees give out as if my body suddenly got several times heavier.

"Did it arouse you?" He asked frankly, touching my flustered cheek with the outer side of his index finger while his face was now only a few centimeters from mine.

All my thoughts swam in my mind mercilessly, flooding me with emotion, drowning me in their power, sucking all my energy out of me with their intensity. And his tender touch had been the top of all of my feelings . . . I couldn't take it anymore . . . I will-I will—

"Achoo!"

There was a long quiet moment while my hands stood between us, shielding him as I had—

I had sneezed!

He was blinking incredulously at me as my face was still in my protective hands. Well, _duh!_ He was about to _kiss me_ when I _sneezed_! It _was_ _kind of_ puzzling when you think about it!

After that, I couldn't look at him any longer. I would burst from embarrassment. I slid against the tree beneath his outstretched arm and dashed home as fast as I could. I didn't glance back, I just ran as fast as my feet could take me.

Oh the humiliation!

* * *

You see, every time I think of something romantic or just . . . well, tender, I get all ticklish and I sneeze. And his touch had been so gentle and amplified by my thoughts and the sight, it was just inevitable . . . I just sneezed, ruining my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to kiss _the_ Vegeta Ouji, the object of all my desires and heartaches, my everlasting obsession, my driving force so far in high school life.

I couldn't look at him after that incident. I couldn't bear even taking a faint glimpse at his handsome profile any longer. I pushed all thoughts of him from my mind while I was around him, otherwise my embarrassment resurfaced and I would get all bright red again. And that's the last thing I wanted.

It was all going well, him not bothering me about this, not even mentioning it, until the inevitable confrontation came . . .

One day I had the whole clique at my house for a drink and just dallying around at Capsule Corp, if even only because it was _big_and it just _begged _to have people over. They all left, pair by pair, until only Vegeta remained in the house. I tried my best to keep my composure in tact, my whole body obeying me as long as he was present, knowing he would soon leave . . . or so I thought at the time.

I did the good housewife act, seeing the great option of keeping my back facing him while taking the dishes and glasses towards the washing machine and loading it, hoping to find myself alone after I returned. No such luck . . . He was still there, sitting in the arm chair, looking heavenly as ever, and staring right at me with that unwavering gaze of his. Suddenly, he stood up and walked towards me.

"You shouldn't have run off like that . . ." he muttered lowly, advancing toward me more and more. I swallowed hard. I could play dumb and say I didn't know what he was speaking of . . . but that would be useless and, not to mention, a downright lie. I knew perfectly well what he was talking about. I couldn't sleep at night because of it. I dreamed of it every time I drifted off, always waking up with a start. I wanted to dig up a hole and die in it before I had to look at him in the eye again. That's why my gaze was pinned at the rug beneath our feet even as he took step after step towards me.

"What else could I do? Do you have any idea how humiliated I felt . . . ?" I murmured meekly, pondering if he even heard me in the first place . . . but I didn't have the courage any longer to look at him. I couldn't lift my eyes up at him . . . I couldn't bear it, not a second longer, this embarrassment! Why wasn't he going home? Why was he doing this to me? Why? I'm not a bad person, am I? I just wanted him so much . . . was that a crime? I'm just a confused teenager that has no parents! And he . . . he's everything I ever wanted! Does it make me a bad person that I want him?

"How about I repair the damage and this time you get no time to 'humiliate' yourself?" Before my brain could digest what he had just said, my chin was cradled by his hand lightly and forced up for my eyes to meet with his deep onyx pools . . . which were so close and enclosing even further . . .

I only had time to gasp lightly before his lips took mine in a tender embrace, his tongue invading my mouth roughly, without waiting permission.

A jolt of electricity ran through my entire being . . .

A jolt that sent life into my body for the first time in my life span . . .

I could finally say . . . that I felt _alive_ . . .

And the first kiss was just the beginning of my night of first experiences . . .

* * *


	4. Possession

There's a memorable event for every girl, an experience every single one of us should cherish and treasure – whether referring to it with melancholy over the long lost first love or with disdain that it ever even occurred with the person it did. For the better or for the worse, each and every girl remembers this particular one night in her life . . .

. . . The night she loses her virginity.

Mine began with a simple kiss . . . Something that shouldn't affect one at all that powerfully the way it affected me . . . But then again, normal human contacts know nothing of a case of madness such as mine, an obsession so obscenely inadequate and complete that it absorbs your persona within itself and at the end of each day you can think of nothing else but that person, you see them when you close your eyes, you dream of being close to them, but daren't even step close to the confines of intimacy . . . You never have the audacity, even in your most courageous dreams, to think you can even so much as be allowed to _touch_ that person intimately, without worrying of what would happen next, how they'd react, because you realize, even in your delirious unhealthy condition, that they just don't share your feelings, they're not even close to acknowledging your existence, not to mention anything other than a mere touch . . .

. . . And yet, there I was, in the middle of my once eerie horrifyingly-placid home with no movement to be detected by the high-tech sensors set all about the house to protect the building from potential burglars, having the insides of mouth explored by the one tongue I couldn't have wanted more and in the same time couldn't have even dreamt of feeling inside of me. It was a mind-dulling concept in itself – I was kissing Vegeta Ouji . . . My lips were moving against _Vegeta's_ in the same sweetly torturous and ardent dance that I had seen him engaged with that girl what seemed an eternity ago . . . An eternity that had enforced its strenuous rules on my wretched soul, denying my vulturous gaze to even graze the tips of his finely shaped shoulders, too ashamed to even _think_ of him, too humiliated to dream of him, of being alone in the same room with him . . .

The kiss was the most mind-boggling thing that ever happened to me. It wasn't as if I have kissed many – actually I had kissed _no one_ before, as I already mentioned – but I was certain that my insane lust for the guy had something to do with the enforced weakness of my knees when before him. The sacred dance in which our mouths were engaged was a fevered one, primal and zealous, powerful and untamed, yet still there was something immeasurably sweet in it, tender and touching . . . A feeling unlike anything else I have ever felt before. His tongue stirred things inside of my body, emotions from within, that I haven't even known existed there. He awoke something that I thought I had buried forever after my father's drifting apart after mother's death.

His actions, caresses, or even the simple fact he was there begot powerful passion inside of me . . .

I raised myself as a girl that didn't want much in life, who didn't really have any goals for her future, the plans were made for me before I was even born even though the situation had drastically changed, and I lived the boring life of mine that was given to me not asking any questions – I did what I was supposed to, everyone was happy and I needn't take any choices. I didn't have to think for myself, I didn't have to strain myself with responsibility. I did everything on an automatic . . . before I laid eyes on _him_.

His appearance, his aura, his everything, it screamed to me from the distance even, it called to me and I knew I was lost at first sight. For the first time, I did something with thought, I wanted something, I _needed_ something to stay sane . . .

And with that kiss . . . the last of that sanity was lost in the mind-blowing touch of his lips.

Every single one of my actions screamed 'inexperienced' and I knew he was aware of that fact. But it didn't really matter in that exact moment. As my eyes were closed, I couldn't help but wonder if that was truly happening, if I wasn't just dreaming with my trance and self-conviction reaching new heights within the land of my every day fantasies. As if to prove that he was corporeal, that it was truly him in front of me, my hands entangled themselves around his neck and my fingers laced with his spikes that looked so stiff and forced from the side, the obvious excess of gel applied to it making it sticky and not all pleasant to the touch . . . only to feel no gel keeping it straight up. The ebony tresses were smooth and – dare I say – fluffy. I could play with his hair, I realized, for hours and hours, the gentle touch of it sweeter than the best candy in the whole wide world.

I didn't even have the time to notice what was going on before I found myself sprawled on my bed with him atop of me, half of my clothing already gone. Once the union of our lips was broken, my self-consciousness started overwhelming me and, as if my pulse wasn't frequent enough, my heart started beating even harder. He would see me naked! He'd see me completely, utterly, _absolutely naked_! How much did you have to shave yourself before such . . . occurrences? _Which parts_ should you shave most carefully? What was he going to think of my body? Would he taunt me later if there was something wrong with me? Would he stop if I didn't fit in his criterion for a girl worth sleeping with?

As worried as I was and becoming even redder with each passing second, I didn't miss the slightly puzzled expression of his as he unclasped my bra's latch. I wasn't sure what exactly to make of that . . . Before I could intercept a reason for his nonplus it was gone as fast as it came, only to be replaced with that familiar impish expression that made me grow goose flesh every time I saw it.

I won't get into detail . . . because I still feel sort of like a bashful virgin. Okay, so I still feel bashful, full stop. The only short way to describe what happened after all our clothes were gone is simply this one:

. . . _Oh . . . my . . . God . . . !_

I could never be sure if he was a sex deity for, as I numerously mentioned already, I had nothing to compare with, but I _knew_ that to me he would always be a God, in every single way possible. He was the lord of my thoughts and desires and after that night, I knew I could no longer resist him at all . . . or at least not when we were alone in the same premise.

The night had been a rapture of all my human senses, all of them ablaze with desire, with the fervent flame of our passion. It was as if someone had detonated a bomb within my body, causing an eruption of violent élan from within me.

The self-consciousness that I felt was slightly smothered by his gentle actions which I'm not even sure he wanted to make, or if he meant them the way I understood them . . . But, no matter what it was he meant, what mattered was that I felt . . . content . . . My breasts, which I have always labelled as small compared to others', he marvelled subtly, caressing them tenderly with his soft fingers and palms as they bounced up and down on my ribcage as he grinded his body mercilessly against mine, his strident thrusts eliciting wave upon wave of ecstasy.

Somewhere in between my pristine moans of measureless rapture, my mind managed to imprint the picture of the small droplets of salty sweat dribbling down his tense facial muscles, strained from the building climax's intensity. His adroit hands extracted pleasure from places in my body I didn't even know existed, sending me hurling in a delirium to a place where there was nothing but tension. Tension and anticipation as the electrified ardency produces convulses in your body from the vehemence of your zenith, the moment your body yearns desperately, as if needing it the same way it needed oxygen. Vegeta's bicepses and tricepses contracted with each jab and his breathless moans stimulated my burst . . .

. . . Until it came . . . The first orgasm I have ever experienced hit me full force, and it left me shaking with the pleasure for some time before the excitement finally subsided and my muscles relaxed, letting the sweat cascade the sides of my body as my back dropped against the firm mattress of my bed and my fingers let go of his shoulders. I hadn't even realized that I had been clinging to him, trying to pull him closer into me before we had separated . . .

. . . But that by far wasn't the end of the night for me . . . We repeated, again and again, again and again, until my frail body, not used to such strenuous work, could take no longer and sleep took me in a loving embrace in the early hours of the morning . . .

* * *

A tiny cloud of dissipating smoke rose over the balcony of Bulma Briefs' room as the male, clad only in his boxers, exhaled heavily from the cigarette he was having. Usually, after sex, he couldn't just lie down and sleep . . . even though sometimes he truly got tired of the night's activities . . . He just didn't feel comfortable in a bed where he wasn't alone . . . He couldn't find peace if there was another next to him on the ride to dream land and in the end, instead of trying to enforce some sleep upon himself, he'd just go out, smoke a cigarette or two, and then leave the girl all to herself and her memories of their night together as all his 'sleepovers' proved to be memorable ones to his countless lovers. That had been his tactic since last year and it always happened that way . . . and most often he never even heard a word of the girls he screwed ever again. 

But this time he knew it would be different. Maybe Juuhachigou had been right when she had told him not to even flirt with the new girl. He snarled. If it was just flirting he had done, things would stand differently now . . .

He wasn't even sure why he had slept with her, though he suspected that these subconscious reasons differed greatly from the uncertainty of why he had slept with all those other bimbos. She hadn't been bad; her inexperience was more than obvious to him, but it didn't really bother him. She had been stiff and tense in the beginning, while some thoughts still registered in her mind, but once the heat of the moment overtook both of them, she gave in to her body's instincts and things became a little bit more ordinary without information taking detours to enter her brain and receive its approval. True, she was quite tight, but she was a virgin – it was only to be expected . . .

All in all, she didn't prove to be anything special . . . and so she would just go in that long line where all his previous conquests would go. Hell, even girls that did better than her he had written off as nothing special and hadn't paid a bit attention to afterwards. He couldn't even recognize their faces as someone he had seen before, not to mention done anything else with . . . She was of no use to him any longer since he got what he wanted from her – a release. She had been a slight challenge at school, but when alone with him, she turned like jelly. What was fun about that? She was no different than any of the other girls! She was nothing to him! He didn't want to be in the same bed, even, with her again. He'd find another lay for next week, month . . .

She was conquered territory to him now and, therefore, of no interest to him. After all, who's stupid enough to conquer again something that is already theirs?

And that he knew . . . She was his, and whether he wanted her or not was a different topic . . . because he had taken her virginity.

* * *

When I finally awoke from the most peaceful and deepest slumber in ages, my body ached all over from the actions of the previous night. Even after I slept, it was still tense and regenerating. I had just woken up but I wanted to go to sleep again . . . No, I had school to do, a nerdy part of my mind called, the first logical thought in a while finally registering in my brain. 

I rested myself with great effort on my elbows to look at the illuminating in the dark (darkness? What time was it really) night stand electronic alarm clock that I trusted with my early rising every day of the week.

By the time I had woken up from my dreamless pleasant sleep, day had already turned to dusk and, therefore, there was no need for me to get up for school simply because . . . well, there _was_ no school in 8 pm . . .

Collapsing on my back against the comfy mattress I noticed that there was no sign of Vegeta. I strained my ears to hear movement somewhere on the storey, perhaps even to the kitchen, but, first of all, I had no such capabilities and, second, there seemed to be absolutely no movement other than my breathing anywhere in the house. It was the same intimidating placidity that it was before and had been like that ever since mother passed away . . . He had most probably gone to school and then went back home, perhaps not to draw attention to our previous night coupling . . .

. . . At least that was what I tried to assure myself, forcing a disturbing and appalling thought out of my mind, and, hopefully, blocking it out for good . . .

* * *

As she neared school she felt her heart rate increase its frequency, making her feel already uneasy. How should she act around him now? What did their union mean to him? What was she to him now? After the impossible had already happened, she couldn't help thinking that she could even become his girlfriend now, even though the concept of that made a flush creep on her pallid cheeks. 

When she sat herself in her seat on their desk, he wasn't there. She hadn't seen him on her way there and she couldn't see him anywhere in the room. Though this wasn't by any means strange as he was usually late for all classes . . .

"Hey, B!" ChiChi exclaimed as she dumped herself on the chair on the desk in front Bulma's. "Why did you skip school yesterday? You got us worried; what with you being a model student and all . . . It was just plain odd. Are you alright?"

There were two things that Bulma paid heed to in ChiChi's words. For one, the brunette had practically just called her a nerd and a dork. But then again, that was what she was to be considered, being so organized about her studying and all and therefore she paid little attention to that fact. What made her feel uneasy and gave her a weird sense of comfort was the "you got us worried" remark. They were all _worried_ about her – a no one that had intruded upon their class, a lowerclassmen girl that showed off with knowledge that they hadn't had at her age and they still accepted as one of them, even letting her into their tidy clique of close friends . . . A huge smile spread on Bulma's faintly pink lips.

"I was just a bit tired is all, Chi." The explanation was vague and even though she loved ChiChi and Juuhachigou more than any other girls, she wasn't completely sure if she should add the reason for her exhaustion or if ChiChi even cared about details. Perhaps she was just saying this; maybe she chose her words in attempt to be tactful and nice to the newcomer . . .

"Tired? How can you _possibly_ be tired after just a month? You're Wonder Girl! You can't be tired of _that_ after the miracle you did, woman!" Her hands slapped on Bulma's desk, making her backpedal a bit from her retirement on the horizontal surface of her desk. "Now stop kidding me and tell me what's wrong!" There was a fire in ChiChi's eyes that frightened and fascinated Bulma at the same time. "Should I go beat someone up? Are you wearing make up to conceal bruises?" Before the aquamarine hair-coloured girl could deny, the brunette was already almost over her, trying to scrub her face free of potential concealing creams and other make up.

"What the hell are you doing to her, ChiChi?" Juuhachigou chuckled in mirth as she observed the struggling girl in her long time friend's firm grip. A pair of obsidian eyes fixed on her for a second before reverting back to the resisting new friend of theirs.

"Oh, hi, Juu," she greeted nonchalantly, muttering something incoherent to Bulma while rubbing her face with a hand. "I'm scrubbing off the make up she has on to see where some bastard has hit her." And with that the stubborn brunette refused to believe her prey's demands to let go of her since there _was_ no make up.

"You know what, Chi," Juu asked as she sat herself on Vegeta's chair. "I really think she wears no make up . . ." She barely held back her smirk as she watched the suffering girl writhe under ChiChi's powerful hands.

"That's because it is ingeniously applied to deceive us!" She sounded like a paranoid madwoman. "But I'm not letting her go before she admits it!"

"Oh, come on, let her go, and stop being childish." Juuhachi rolled her eyes when observing the younger girl's pain became boring. After a few more struggles Bulma was finally released to take a decent breath in. Then the sapphire orbs glared daggers at her dark haired friend.

"Never do that again, you got that?" Her cheeks were burning from the violent way they had been rubbed only seconds ago. ChiChi's eyes averted guiltily toward the desk before she composed herself again.

"Why weren't you at school? Give me the real reason or this time I'm going to be serious!" The threat had intimidated Bulma more than anything yet that ChiChi had done to her. She hadn't been serious a second ago? Then she didn't want to know how it actually felt when the other girl _was_ serious . . .

"I told you, I was tired!"

"Too scarce," Juu added just the way her friend had, the brunette now nodding insistently. "Why were you so tired as not to even show your face at school?"

"Come on, you guys! I'm fine, as you see! What does it matter and what's with the cross-examination?" She really didn't feel alright with talking about her first night with them, although she was ready to tell them even her darkest of secrets . . . The thing was that she was still embarrassed when even thinking of the night, not to mention _talking_ about it and discussing it with her newfound friends and, as they probably labelled themselves as, her guardians in the class.

"What are you hiding from us?" Juuhachi asked suspiciously, her eyes squinting in effort to read the secret concealed in Bulma's cerulean orbs. The girl had been taken aback by the sudden question, even though it was expected, what with her own suspicious behaviour and resistance to answering any questions concerning the previous day. Maybe she should tell them . . . After all, they would understand, wouldn't they? Vegeta was a handsome boy and most probably any girl would want to be in his embrace . . . if even just for a night . . . They would probably understand or at least ask her how she felt . . . It would be easier to her if she could discus it with someone . . . Maybe she'd feel better if she had people that knew Vegeta better to explain to her how she was to act around him now that things had changed so drastically . . .

She opened her mouth to answer truthfully but she spotted the lord of her thoughts right behind ChiChi. His eyes were shooting warning glares to her, daring her to spill their seemingly little secret to the world. For some reason, there was something quite intimidating in his eyes . . . He was a completely different person from the insatiable lover she had last night . . . Had she done something wrong? Had she made a mistake? She couldn't know as long as the two of those girls weren't out of earshot, she realized . . .

"I was up all night working," she began, the wheels of her mind turning with rapid speeds to create a convincing lie, even though Vegeta's protruding onyx gaze and Juuhachigou's seeing-though-her-soul one made the process harder to achieve. She was a genius; she had to think of _something_! _Yes, that was it!_ She _was_ a genius and what did geniuses do? She leaned in conspiratorially, as if she was about to tell them the biggest secret she could have, making a single muscle on Vegeta's face twitch at the thought. "You see, it's still quite a secret, but I guess I can tell you guys since you're my two best friends in the whole wide world."

"Stop trying to fool us out of it and just spill!" Juuhachigou hissed but Bulma paid no heed to her malicious tone.

"I'm making a new type of a space pod that can move with a speed near that of the sound even though I was aiming for the speed of light and then I'll have to create a new type of fuel for it after it's designed and ready for mass production . . . well, as mass of production it will be able to get, what with the parts being incredibly expensive and all . . . "

"What!" ChiChi exclaimed disbelievingly after the story was told. "As if we'd believe _that_ kind of lie!" she exclaimed again, her arms crossing over her chest. Bulma backpedaled and looked hurt at the suggestion. After all, it _was_ her current project, although it wasn't the reason why she was up all night.

"Who would want you building that?" Juuhachigou raised a skeptical eye brow as well.

"Are you kidding me? Do you have any clue how much money NASA promised to pay Capsule Corp. if I succeed?" It was the truth, the amount was . . . let's just say colossal didn't nearly cover a quarter of it. Every time she tried to count the zeroes after the number she got lost and had to count them again, only to try the same action until her head started to ache. "Do you have _any_ idea what heights people will be able to reach if I manage?" Before the argument could continue further, the first bell for the day rang, sending all students to their seats. Juuhachi dragged her desk-mate towards their places, sending one last dubious glare to their new friend, as if speechlessly informing her they'd clear that one up later and that they weren't done with her.

Once his seat was released of Juuhachigou's presence, Vegeta sat himself next to his previous night lover, eyes pinned forward as he muttered, "Nice going, Sherlock." She threw him a disbelieving glare.

"It _wasn't_ a lie, you people!" She exclaimed, almost hurt by their distrust of her mind's capacities. "I have already made the craft that travels by the speed of sound. All I need to do now is find a way to create fuel that can carry it even faster and have no energy boundaries! I wasn't lying . . ." she trailed off solemnly and then finally recoiled, remembering who she had been talking back to just now. Her face turned to stone and her movements stiffened considerably with nervousness, even though the untrained (and uncaring) eye such as Vegeta's couldn't notice those reactions.

Before she could launch herself into another endless tirade of questions inside the confines of her mind, Vegeta's husky whisper reached her ears in a low tone so no one but her could hear his words . . .

"If you tell anyone about last night I cannot promise your well-being."

The appalling statement registered in her mind with tremendous speed, making her mind block out anything else for the whole period, rendering her hand immobile during a class for the first time in her life. The thought she had put so much effort to kick out of her mind came crushing down on her, squashing her under its immeasurable pressure.

She had been ruthlessly, brutally used . . .

* * *

I think I might have died at that point because no oxygen seemed to reach my brain, not a muscle in my body moved and my mind was utterly blank as an unwritten on sheet of paper. I was stiff with the realization of painful reality . . . I was betrayed . . . 

I had betrayed myself . . . I had given my everything, set my heart and soul for so long in a person that didn't appreciate it . . . I had set my mind and soul in someone who didn't care a bean about me, even after he had slept with me . . . I had given my precious virginity to a person that hadn't even wanted it in the first place, didn't even care about it because it meant nothing to him, because _I_ meant nothing to him. I was just another prey to his charms, a puppet in his hands. I was no longer even a friend or something interesting, as he had taken everything he could from me, ripped my dreams and fantasies out of my grasp and stomped all over them . . . destroying them and reducing them to millions of tiny glass shards that you can't compile as a whole again even if you spent a life time trying to.

And that was exactly how I felt. Broken, thrown away, lifeless, meaningless . . . The thought made me feel claustrophobic inside my skin, made me want to zip it down and hide somewhere, leaving the Bulma everyone knew just a soulless doll . . . while my mind found a place to rest, my heart found a refuge from the pain that wrenched it unstoppably inside my chest.

Betrayal can't even have you _begin_ picturing in your mind the way I felt . . . I felt tiny enough to be squished with his pinkie finger . . . I felt more humiliated than if I had been seen naked in front of the whole school . . . I felt more betrayed and shattered than when my mother started referring to the air in her embrace, which she always held as if she was cradling a baby, as me, her eyes blind to the slightly grown up version of the infant her confused mind recalled . . . I felt more alone in the whole world than when I realized that my father didn't care enough about me to forget _some_ of his turmoil to help _me_ pull through the stress I had to endure at the fragile age of only eight . . .

He didn't care, didn't want me, he didn't need me, he couldn't give a damn if I died right then, right there . . . Because I meant nothing to him . . . Because my sacrifices, my dreams and my wishes weren't enough for him to even look at me . . . Because I couldn't fit in his idea of a girlfriend . . . Because I didn't prove a satisfying lay . . . Because the magic of our coupling meant nothing to him . . .

. . . Because I wasn't even of any _use_ to him . . .

The impact of the words made me experience a sorrow greater than my body could take . . . The agony overwhelmed me from inside, making it impossible to even breathe as I felt like I would burst from within any second . . .

. . . And I couldn't even bring myself to _cry_ . . .

* * *

The following days were a blur to her. She was grim and gloomy the whole time, she didn't listen to anything anyone told her. She didn't even care enough to pay attention to what Vegeta was doing, something she couldn't keep herself from doing before. She was bitter and hurt, deeply and agonizingly hurt with an invisible wound from which the blood wouldn't stop oozing no matter what she tried and how hard she tried doing it . . . because whenever she remembered of _him_, the wound started bleeding anew . . . 

Her world went black and white and mute in her grief like those ancient movies . . . She didn't think, even though her grades didn't indicate that anything was wrong with her. The only thing that had changed about her was her more than ever un-talkativeness and the slight shine in her eyes was seemingly lost forever, never to break through the thickness of the clouds over her soul . . . She had been broken, never to be whole again . . . Her one and only dream, unreachable to her, ripped out of her grasp and incinerated to tiny insignificant dust . . . scattered by the restless winds of violent reality . . . She would never know love and compassion . . . because she would never let herself fall for a boy again . . .

Or at least that was what she thought before she met _him_ . . .

* * *

Bulma was staring at the blank sheets of her notebook, seated in her chair as ever while someone slumped on the desk in front of her. She could care less; she didn't even register the action in her mind. She was too caught up in self-bashing to notice. But when the tanned arms of a male leant in on her desk, a pair of hands blocking her view, her cerulean eyes rose impassively to lock their gaze with the most lively onyx orbs she had ever seen . . . a massive amount of energy and a happy-go-lucky attitude radiated contagiously from them . . . Just his gaze could warm her frozen heart and reactions to life a bit, with the power a tiny fire could soothe your body at the verge of a hypothermia . . . 

"Why the long face recently, Wonder Girl? Did someone die?" He meant it as a joke, she could see, but someone _did_ die. She did. At least mentally, she did. And she wasn't in the mood for the 'Wonder Girl' crap everyone was feeding her . . . She didn't even want to _think_ about it, as it reminded her of that obdurate listless bastard Vegeta . . . the bastard she was willing to even give her life for, only to have it all thrown back in her face by the brutal reality – she didn't even know him and was yet ready to give her life for his . . . ? Maybe she deserved the pain?

"You should go have your eyes and reflexes checked. Are you blind? I'm in no mood to be hit on." She growled at him as she said that. He gave a hearty laugh at that.

His laughter . . . So devoid of anything other than carelessness and purity . . . His voice spoke volumes of the way he had lived his life . . . His chuckle was pure and it came truly from the insides of his untainted soul, his view clear for the beauty and fascination of life. It was a sound so much different from her desk mate's impish chuckle, which held so much of life's perversion behind it . . . the aura of the person releasing it clear for the trained ear's hearing. She was genuinely surprised to feel the ice of her frost-bound heart adopt a huge menacing web-like crack at the mere presence of this unknown character.

"I'm really sorry, it's just that you remind me so much of my sister when she's in a foul mood." He changed his sweet baritone voice to a deeper mock-bass one. "Get out of my sight, Yamcha, or I'll use my Uzi against you for real this time." The urge to giggle at the statement bordered the untamable but she still refrained from doing so.

"Didn't you just say sister?"

"Yes and her voice becomes this frightening masculine over-testosterone possessed sound that you just heard . . . or at least something near it. You just have to hear it to know what I mean." He shrugged.

"Uzi?" Bulma raised a skeptical eye brow again.

"It's her most favourite toy. The only thing that she possibly likes more is the air-gun that she has so much fun sniping me with . . . Thank God for blank cartridges . . ." This time she couldn't stop herself. She laughed for the first time in what seemed like eternity to her sorrow-ridden soul. The boy smiled kind-heartedly at her, a spark of liveliness jumping in his eyes. "See, it doesn't hurt, does it? Laughing once in a while, that is."

"Sometimes it's harder than you can imagine," she muttered once her mirth subsided.

"How about if I make you laugh again you let me treat you a burger and we see what we can do about this permanent bad mood of yours, eh?" He asked suggestively and she rolled her eyes.

"I think I told you I'm not in the mood of being hit on and I doubt you'll manage anyway," she challenged impassively.

"That I've heard thousands of times, every time I survive a direct blank cartridge to the head but I'm still here and bugging you, so you can guess how successful I am with managing things." He grinned from ear to ear. "You remind me of Maron . . ." he said suddenly, making Bulma's eye brows narrow greatly.

"Do not compare me with that repulsing low-life whore," she warned darkly, a fire of hatred ablaze in her eyes.

"True, she has the mental capacity that barely rivals this chair's," he patted his seat's back rest. "And I believe my cat will outsmart her on one of those IQ tests, but that's an entirely different topic." Bulma couldn't help a slight smile that curled the corners of her mouth. '_Just a bit more_,' he thought. "If you keep that face you'll risk turning into Nappa."

"Who?" she didn't understand.

"The bald macho man over there, as tall as a mountain and grumpier than humanly possible."

"And just _how_ is it that I'll turn like Nappa by just lacking the same enthusiasm about life that you seem to possess, oh Knowledgeable one?" she mocked.

"Well for an example you'd have the glare of a serial killer and your eye brows will be frozen in this kind of expression," he demonstrated what he meant, his eye brows narrowing in a ridiculous, taunting kind of way. "Also, from gritting and grinding your teeth so much you risk a reverse bite jaw, like this," his bottom jaw extended slightly forward. "And, finally," he barely spoke as he experienced difficulty with his jaw forward the way it stood, "which is the most scary concept of all, you may turn into a giant bag of muscles and a pea-sized brain which you have to glance at with a microscope to detect even any wrinkles on the surface of." His face returned the way it was, the girl at his front smiling skeptically again as if he had just grown a horn on his head.

Before she could retort anything to that, the other occupant of her desk joined them, a malignant look in his eyes as he threw Yamcha a heated glare. The other boy didn't pay any heed to Vegeta's warning gaze and greeted him happily, "Hey, Veg'! How's life going?"

"Perfect once you remove your annoying presence from around me," was the gruff answer he received.

"Gee man, what's up with you? Did I say something wrong?" He glanced at Bulma for support, who just as stubbornly refused to glance at the boy next to her.

"You _did_ something wrong by existing," the other male informed him. Yamcha didn't even have the time to think of a retort as Bulma jumped in the offensive as well.

"Why don't you just do us all a favour and _shut up_?" She snapped malignantly at the spiky-haired teen, which recoiled with a whip of his head toward her, an incredulous stare adorning his onyx eyes. But she was no longer looking at him, or sitting next to him for that matter. She had already gathered Yamcha's arm in her hand and was pulling on the boy's sleeve to get up as well. "Come on, let's go somewhere we don't have assholes jumping down our throats for no apparent reason whatsoever, hm?"

With that the pair of them disappeared out of sight towards the canteen to continue their conversation, whatever it was. What had pissed off Vegeta in the first place was that the little shit made Bulma laugh . . . A beautiful sound . . . the thought of which he had squished immediately after realizing what he had just let slip through his mind. She was no longer all grim and frustrated . . . Her mood would change only by that little bastard's voice even . . . And she wouldn't even glance at him, Vegeta!

He had no idea why it bothered him, but he felt the need to kick Yamcha out of the picture for no reason whatsoever. And what had she done when he attempted to free her of that worm's annoying presence? She had lashed back at him! The same girl that crawled in his feet only days ago had just told him in the most sincere way humanly possible to _shut up_! The nerve of that bitch!

He stood still, absolutely shock-ridden, for the best of the next period . . .

* * *

As time progressed, Vegeta hoped that the irritating company of the desert rat, as he liked to call the scar-faced boy, would leave the girl next to him alone. He had no such luck. What he got was quite the contrary. The woman actually seemed to enjoy the scarred fool's presence, seemed to find some sort of solace from the world inside her small fragile body when around him . . . And that pissed Vegeta off. 

Her pallid cheeks would adorn with colour every once in a while when that little bastard was around the way _he_ had made them turn pink before . . . She would turn red in embarrassment every once in a while the way _he_ had made them red with arousal before . . . She would laugh with that brat the way she had never laughed with him . . .

He was disturbed by the fact all these things actually mattered to him, they made his blood boil in his veins. He wanted to take a grip on that little shit and wrench his head free from his shoulders, toss it in a garbage can and dispose of the rotting corpse in some ditch in the centre of the city. He didn't even care about her. He tried to tell himself she was nothing special . . . She felt like nothing special the night he had taken her virginity, she meant _nothing_ to him . . . He didn't give a damn about her, he was already on his way to screwing better girls, which knew what they were doing . . .

. . . And still there was this small voice in the back of his mind that reminded him of the next day after Bulma met Yamcha for the first time when she brought her half-ready blueprints of the spacecraft that raced the speed of sound. A proof that such a thing really existed and was already near completion the evidence to him that she wasn't just any girl . . . There were many things that made her unique and incredibly special . . . And her clumsiness in bed had been something . . . something that he _miraculously_ found himself _missing_! Could you even begin to believe it? It was so incredible his mind couldn't digest it! It was a concept so foreign he wondered what the cause of the sudden change of heart was.

What he knew was that, selfish to the core as he was, merciless to other people's feelings as he was, he wanted to have the girl's laughter to himself, her feelings to himself, her mood swings in the palm of his hand. He knew he could easily control her if only he set his mind into it. There was something oddly familiar about her which he couldn't quite put his finger on . . . and he had a strange feeling that it had something to do with the ease with which he could manipulate her and her feelings. Whatever it was, he was bent on succeeding.

Even though he assured himself he cared none about her, that he didn't need her but felt obliged to play with her for a while, he couldn't help the adrenaline rush and the anger that built in his body every time he imagined her frail little body writhing in pleasure beneath that unworthy rat, her finely filed nails digging in someone else's shoulders and scratching someone else's back . . . He didn't want the fucker to experience that . . . He wouldn't let him have her . . . She was his and only his! She was his to control, his to do whatever he wanted with her, to please her or hurt her any way he wanted to! She was his possession! His toy!

Slowly, but surely, Vegeta was coursing a certain way to madness . . .

. . . It was possessiveness towards this enigmatic female that excited him at the simple thought, turning him in an insane megalomaniac for more and more power over her . . .

And he knew his mind was already made up, whether he liked to admit it or not . . .

. . . To his subconsciousness, she was his and _only his_ . . . He was her possessor, she was his possession . . . and he would have it no other way . . .

* * *

What do we have here? Vegeta's a total bastard and a very complex-driven creature! Will he really succeed in controlling Bulma the way he wants to or maybe she's already over him? What will happen with her and Yamcha if their little friendship keeps going? If you want to know you'll have to keep writing them reviews and I'll try to keep writing them chapters and we'll all get along fine. 

Sorry for the especially long chapter anyway, but I hope you read it as it may take quite some time before I write anything again . . . **_Don't forget to check my bio _**as it will certainly answer _some_ questions for you, while if you want to know why the hell truly I have stopped writing, you should check my **live journal**, the link to which is in the **_bio_** again. No, I am not trying to make you read my shit. I just want to assure myself a life at least until I turn eighteen. (Laughs)

Yours sincerely, _Dark Hope Assassin_.


	5. Disgusting

The days passed and turned into weeks, which in turn transformed into a full month. It was a month of utter agony for both occupants of the last desk . . .

For the blue-haired girl the Hell was complete, her blank mind drowning her in a pool of suffocating sorrow and a skein of complex memories and aborted wishes haunting her consciousness, day after day, night upon night . . . She slept less, ate less . . . lived less. She didn't feel like a person anymore, the last of her prayers to this selfish God that existed getting rejected . . .

As for the flame-haired desk-mate of hers, the month had been a hell of seeing Yamcha's annoying scarred face over and over again with a tendency of the number of his visits to dramatically rise as time progressed . . . An appalling idea, especially when added to the fact that his irritating presence seemed to cheer the woman up and even have her recover easy from her previous shock.

It was no secret to anyone—Vegeta was a terrible person. Not only did he like using people to suit his whim but he also enjoyed their suffering afterwards, seeing how they couldn't go on without him, letting him savor in his own greatness when they showed how much they needed him. Yet this dirty rat, a second-rate man-whore, some happy-go-lucky fool who had surely landed in their class by some cruel joke of fate, seemed enough to make a woman—a creature so dependant on his caress, a creature so easily to manipulate—forget all about him! How dare that sorry excuse for a male steal her from him?

However, the zenith of this whole insanity, as Vegeta had kindly labelled it, came during a lunch break on a day which seemed no different than any other boring one . . .

* * *

For what time that week, that month, she had lost count, she was sitting on her empty desk, staring vacuously at the wood it was made from, tracing lazy circles with her ever thinning fingers, her small broken nails creating a nagging sound that dug into the ears of those around her, making them send alarming glares her way. However, all of their threats fell on deaf ears as the soulless girl continued her repetitive ministrations, ignoring the world around her . . . a world that she hated and that hated her back . . . a world that wouldn't allow her only dream to come true . . . a cruel world that would never understand . . . an empty world, without a friend in the world, without a friend to care about her most, to put her needs before their, without a friend to be her one, without a friend to be the person just for her . . .

Yamcha sat himself on a free chair on the front desk and observed the depressed girl who had yet to acknowledge his presence in the vicinity. He watched as she dragged her fingertip along the rough surface of the desk, her hand supporting her chin, while her right hand kept tracing those senseless circles, around and around, around and around . . .

"I see you're quite busy here; perhaps I should come again later when you're done?" he joked and his words hit home—his presence was finally noted and with a decent amount of indignity on his friend's account. Over the short time he had known this fascinating person before him, Yamcha had subtly become very fond of drawing her complete undivided attention to himself and was especially pleased to know he had struck a cord when her cheeks adorned with a rose tint.

"What do you want?" Her voice and words were a bit more offensive than she had intended but she oddly found herself not caring much at the moment. Usually she would consider her new friend's feelings first and the way he could react to her characteristic cynicism and biting remarks but, at current point in time, she could hardly force her mind to consider the feelings of anyone who had dared pull her out of her own hectic masochistic little world.

To her luck or misfortune, the scarred boy seemed quite unfazed with her remark. His grin intact, he grabbed the wrist which wasn't supporting her head and pulled the girl to her feet, much to her surprise and dismay. Once she had recovered from her initial shock, the cobalt eyes glared poisonous daggers at the physicist.

"Just what the hell are you doing?" she snapped and had the full intention to free her hand but had no time to execute her plans as the boy proceeded with dragging her across the room towards the door.

"Your friends are already downstairs for lunch. God knows you can use some." He smiled as he motioned to her slimming waistline. Flushing with anger, Bulma made another effort to free herself of his grip.

"The fact you're my friend does _not_ give you a right to prod into my personal affairs! When and what I eat is absolutely _none_ of your concern!" She clenched her hands into fists, her unfiled nails making small crescent-like marks in her skin. "Are you even _listening_ to me, Yamcha?" she hissed while they descended the stairs.

"You're right, none of the things you mentioned are any of my business," he admitted with an apologetic grin.

"You're still holding my hand and pulling me down these stairs though," she pointed out the obvious fact as if he didn't see that himself.

"However, I'm quite antagonistic to your gang's 'let's leave her be and let her cope with her own worries herself' strategy. I know that all of us need to deal with their inner demons sooner or later but I don't think leaving someone drown in their misery is the right course of action."

They were now in front of the cafeteria's glass doors with Yamcha pushing Bulma forward by her back, much like children do. With an inaudible groan Bulma turned around to face Yamcha, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at him with an air of finality, her stance speaking for itself—she wasn't going in there, she was not hungry and would _not_ eat. She inhaled and opened her mouth, but Yamcha beat her to it.

"I know it isn't any of my concern. But is it not my duty as a friend to worry over you and your health?"

His words seemed to make the girl freeze in her tracks of pure stubbornness. It had been forever since she had heard someone was worried about her. Someone was actually _worried_ about _her_ . . . The concept could barely make it through her skull . . .

Over the past few weeks, she had become so engrossed in her own internal little world of pain and betrayal. She had been replaying that dreadful day that Vegeta had broken her heart without so much as flinching that she felt as if her insides had turned to stone in the agony. When she was alone, she could barely move a muscle. It was a scar that ran very deep, the words the callous teenager had said enclosing her mind in a possessive, cruel grip, restricting all her emotions and perceptions. In the dark, she would stare at the ceiling, comprehending all the things that were wrong with her, all the things that did not satisfy that selfish person she had so hopelessly fallen for. She would sit in the dark, slumped against her bedpost, cursing her screwed up mind for making her fall in love with an illusion of a person . . . A person whose real character had taken everything he could from her.

And yet, during the day, she would come to school where this boy would give her everything her wounded soul needed. When she was with Yamcha, he showed her all the affection and devotion she had needed her entire childhood but had never had. It was a cruel irony that she had not seen him first, that she had not fallen for him on her first day in high school. Things could have certainly been a lot different . . .

While Yamcha was around, she felt alive again. She could laugh, smile, feel the fire that burnt within her, that character that she had long forgotten as she had buried herself in a daydream land of tainted infatuations and unachievable goals . . . She owed so much to him yet he wanted nothing in return, claiming her smile was all the gratitude he needed. God, she _needed_ him. She needed him around in her hollow, intimidating home. She needed the sunshine that he brought with him, that childlike happiness that his innocent features supposed.

"I have no clue what you have been punishing yourself for over the entire short-lived time I have known you . . ." He reached with his hand to touch the darkened skin under her eyes. "But I don't think whatever it is it is worth all those sleepless nights you spent by yourself in that enormous lonely room."

Lonely . . . yes; that was exactly how she felt. In fact, it was the only thing to which she was accustomed and she abhorred more than anything else. She was obviously cursed to be alone, forever drowning in the shadow of her own incompetence, of her own incompletion that made her so unlovable.

Before she could submerge into another fit of self-loathing, Yamcha's hand cupped her chin and lifted her eyes to lock with his. She couldn't miss his concerned look for the world and in a second she felt like hanging herself on his neck and pleading him to remove this torment, this mental pain that suffocated her, that oppressed her . . . but she resisted it and instead listened to what he asked of her.

"So . . . please come and try to eat with me?"

For a brief moment she seemed to contemplate the notion. Then she stared into the deep pools of obsidian and she knew immediately what the answer would be. What was she doing . . . What in goodness' sake was she doing? God forbid she was getting more and more revolting with each passing second. What was she doing, making such a radiant person adopt such a worry-worn expression.

Her face changed to a playful little smile as she turned on her heel and marched inside the canteen.

"I'll say . . . I must really get a grip on myself or you might start thinking that you can easily boss me around!" she said to him over her shoulder as he pushed through the glass doors after her. "I might start thinking I'm wearing off on you."

Yamcha's grin sent a wave of easiness over her.

"I think I'll leave the bossing around to the professional," he commented while the two of them joined the food queue.

"What did you just call me?" She turned around and hit him lightly on the shoulder. He laughed. She smiled. How was it that one person could make her world so colourful in just an instant?

In the short distance, several pairs of eyes were set on the joyous couple, the looks in their gazes showing anything but content with what they were seeing . . .

* * *

Juuhachigou slurped her juice through the thin straw as she watched Wonder Girl and Scar push each other around like children.

"I'm not sure whether I like where this is heading or not . . ." she murmured so that her friends sitting on the table around her were the only ones to hear. All their gazes were pinned to the same thing she was watching so intently.

"I think you guys are judging Yamcha too severely," Krillin said with a strange smile. "Perhaps you should have a little more faith in him."

"Yamcha is the one thing I can never put any trust in," ChiChi interjected while she bit on her home-made sandwich.

Vegeta, on the other hand, didn't say anything. He was brooding in the corner, watching as the filthy rat touched the woman's shoulders, pulled the woman's arm and rubbed his filthy body against her. There was a touch of insanity in those dark onyx depths while they took in the sight of the pair. The sight was simply sickening—he felt the urge to either vomit or beat that shit senseless . . . The latter, of course, sounding much more appealing. Before he could submerge into any more diabolical thoughts though, the two decided that they should join the group, much to everyone's dismay . . .

Bulma, of course, no one minded—for the short time she had been with them she had easily fit in with them. Her strangeness level, as Krillin had once put it just to amuse the heiress, seemed to match theirs perfectly. Yamcha, however, was an entirely different story . . .

Although she had promised, the marine-haired girl couldn't help her spirits dampening when she joined the table on which the reason for all her torment was seated. Her eyes grew dull and she was engulfed in her thoughts once again. That did not go unnoticed by her friends, who had meanwhile been pretending to be engrossed in a serious conversation, or by her companion.

"Bulma?" he probed quietly, receiving no response from the girl who was currently busying herself with picking on her food. Vegeta's brows furrowed.

'_You don't know when to quit, do you dipshit?_' the dark male thought, his teeth grinding more angrily as he chewed his food than before the pair's arrival. '_Maybe she just doesn't want to _talk_ to you!_' It was odd how strongly he felt the urge to launch himself forward and choke the little bastard, just for the _fun_ of it. What the damn little imbecile said next, though, he had never expected, as had no one else on the table.

"Go out with me, Bulma," Yamcha blurted out suddenly, gaining the thoughtful girl's attention. The rest of the occupants of the table were silent, watching in wonder what the girl's retort would be. Bulma, on the other hand, couldn't help her eye brows narrowing in annoyance.

"We just got here and you want to go out already?" She didn't believe this guy—he was impossible! First he wanted her to sit down and eat and now he was rushing her in walking aimlessly around! Well, she would be damned if there was a more unreasonable person in the whole wide world than—

"I mean 'go out with me' as in be my girlfriend," he clarified casually, as if it was the most natural thing on Earth.

—him . . .

The whole area around her seemed to have been muted by a huge remote control. A silence so complete fell over the table and its occupants that it felt like she had lost her hearing in an instant.

Bulma was dumbstruck. She wasn't sure how to react. She wasn't sure how to answer. Damn it, she couldn't even grasp the concept of what was going on! Was she dreaming? Had she really just heard what she thought she had?

Vegeta's eyes were wide, as were all of his friends'. He was thankful for their diversion as it would have been bad for them to see the rage that burnt in his onyx pools, although none of it showed on his face. Before he could comprehend what was happening though, the woman's mouth had already betrayed him.

She was all smiles as she threw herself on Yamcha neck, repeating, "Yes, yes, of course I would be!" over and over again like an insane mantra . . . a mantra that obliterated what remains of sanity the spiky haired teenager had.

* * *

Now, two weeks later, Vegeta and the gang were harvesting the fruits of the union. And now that Yamcha officially had a right to be with Bulma, he barely let her breathe, or at least that was how the gang saw it. He stuck around twenty-four seven. It was terrible pest to be quite frank . . .

Bulma, on the other hand, had never felt any worse. And do not make the mistake that it was Yamcha's fault—it was all purely psychological. When she was with her boyfriend, his radiance affected her greatly, washed away all her fears, all her regrets, chased away all her demons back to their murky shadows. However, once he was gone, they would crawl out of their holes, taking over her in an even more malicious way. When Yamcha was gone, she would suffer tenfold more than before, tormented not by dread, regret but by guilt as well.

She was using the boy, it was clearer than a day. He was so caring, so selfless with her. He gave her everything and wanted nothing in return. She wanted to pay him back for his generosity, for his kindness, in a way that would please him . . . but she just couldn't . . . She could buy him anything he liked. Absolutely anything! It wasn't as if a six digit purchase would be much of a difference with her latest project selling out so well. Nevertheless, whenever she brought it up he would get nervous and change the subject immediately. She had no idea what to make of it but knew better than to push it.

And still the problem prevailed. She would make use of him while he was around and think of that manipulating bastard when he was not . . . Did she still crave for the spiky haired asshole, she wondered . . . No one was that stupid, right? No one could become that disgusting, right? No one could have that little self-respect, regardless of their past . . . right?

"Bulma?" she heard a probing voice reach her. She shook her head slightly and looked up into the onyx pools of her boyfriend. He was making that worried expression again. She hated seeing him like that. It made her feel even filthier for corrupting such a pure creature as him with things like worry, doubt . . . or even, God forbid, pain. "Is everything okay? You were spacing out." His eye brows furrowed. "You seem to be doing that a lot lately . . ."

"I'm just a little tired is all . . ." She tried to give a reassuring smile that was anything but reassuring. Yamcha's frown deepened.

It was true though . . . She was terribly tired. She was even thinner than she was, what with all those restless nights and all . . . Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see in the darkness of the back of her eye lids was that traitor's face . . . tormenting her, mocking her, taunting her . . . Whenever she listened to the complete silence of her spacious void room, all she could hear were the little voices in her head, whispering viciously, "Liar!", "Manipulator!", "Dirty whore!" . . .

She depended on her boyfriend now too much . . . When he wasn't around, she couldn't calm herself down enough to fall asleep. It was one of the main reasons for the increased frequency of his visits at home for a sleepover. He didn't seem to mind though—it was as though every moment he spent with her gave him even more of this endless energy of his. She was thankful for that . . . When he was happy, she was happy too . . . and however romantic it might have sounded from anyone else but her, she knew nothing would come out of their relationship. She was as unlovable as ever, unable to give anything to anybody but she and she couldn't even help herself . . . It was pathetic, what she had become . . .

And still this boy insistently was still together with her, supporting her when she needed it, making her day brighter whenever another weird idea popped up in his mind, making her laugh and feel like a person again for the evanescent moments, it seemed to her, that they were together . . .

"Well . . . alright, if you're sure . . ." He didn't sound much convinced by her reassuring smile either, but decided not to push her. Instead, he grinned as he remembered what he had had to say in the first place. "How about tonight I come to your place and we watch this movie you said you had been craving to see, huh?"

"I thought you said you couldn't find it anywhere . . ." She looked out of it but he could still see the hope burning in her eyes. He knew how much she loved this movie and he had tried especially hard to find it for her.

"Well, let's just say there isn't anything you _can't_ do when you use your internal ties a bit." He winked devilishly at her. But when she hugged him tight he was a bit taken aback. Usually she was a very composed and reserved person, always keeping her thoughts and feelings to herself, never telling him anything . . . Therefore this outright show of affection was quite new to him.

To be honest, Yamcha had never had a relationship which was founded on something other than physical attraction. Hell, he had not yet even kissed Bulma, and was still terribly attached to her. It was so weird . . . It wasn't as if she wasn't attractive, of course! She just wasn't as much of a looker like all those other girls had been . . . With her, he felt like he could become a better person, erase all those horrible things he had done before, all those hearts he had broken mercilessly, without even thinking about it . . . Now all of his past attacked him, making him redeem himself through this wounded, lonely girl.

When he had first seen her, he had thought that it had to be a joke. Someone as small and closed off to the world as her being a genius? Sure, she was a Briefs, but genius doesn't _always_ run in the family. And then he had seen that sad face she made. No one else had seemed to notice it; no one seemed to want to fix that broken expression. It was then that he had known it—he wanted to make her smile and protect that smile. There was little that he wasn't ready to give up in order doing so . . . and with every passing day he spent by her side the amount of those things receded more and more . . .

Some of his friends even joked . . . he never laughed at it but just smiled to himself whenever he heard it . . .

_Yamcha, my man! It's almost as if you're falling for that girl, I'm getting worried!_

Yeah . . . almost as if he was falling for that girl . . .

* * *

_You're a terrible person._

I know that . . . I know it . . . And yet I never tell him to stop . . . I never push him away . . . Not when he hugs me, saying it's all going to be alright when I wake him up at night with my nightmares . . . Not when he comes around every day, doing this and that for me . . . Not when he organizes things for us to do that only real couples do . . .

_You're no better than Him_.

That's true . . . It's entirely true . . . But still I can't give up Yamcha. I need Yamcha. And Yamcha needs me. Is that so terrible? Is that so unacceptable?

_No one needs you because no one wants to have anything to do with such a selfish person._

Is that selfish? Is trying to rejuvenate so selfish? Is trying to become a better person so terribly selfish?

_You have reached a new level of low, woman_.

Yes, I have, haven't I . . . I pity myself . . . I despise myself . . . I'm revolted by myself . . . Everyone should hate me . . . Everyone should avoid me . . . I should be placed somewhere where no one can go, where no one can be affected by my dirtiness . . . Yes . . . I don't want to taint any more people . . . I can't taint any more people . . . I have to go away, I have to hide this monster that I am, somewhere far away . . . Somewhere no one can find me . . . Somewhere no one can hear me . . .

_You're disgusting._

Somewhere no one will hear me scream his name . . . Somewhere no one will see me lose myself . . . Somewhere I can die alone, writhe to death in my selfish consciousness . . . Somewhere I can cry rivers for the hell that rages inside me . . . Somewhere only for me . . .

_You're damaged_.

I am . . . I don't know what love is . . . I don't understand Yamcha's feelings for me . . . I don't understand his unselfishness . . . Why? Why does he do all those wonderful things for a filthy whore like me? Why does he have such compassion for a loser like me? How can he be so devoted to something so unholy like me?

_You're disgusting . . ._

"Bulma!"

The hand on my shoulder made me jump and raised me from the desk. I tried to comprehend what went on and then my hands instinctively shot to my tear-stricken face . . . only to find it perfectly dry. In fact, I realized with a taut frown, perhaps a bit drier than I would have liked it to be. Only after doing so did I glance at the intruder who had cut short my little schizophrenic conversation. Juuhachigou raised a skeptical eye brow at me before grabbing my hand and dragging me to an unknown destination.

"Bulma, you've been really weird lately." She looked accusingly at me. "We're all getting really worried about you and you don't even want to talk to anyone about whatever is bothering you. That's really unhealthy, you know."

"Tell me about it . . ." I muttered to myself and looked at the desk she was sitting on. How was I supposed to tell her about this? She would surely hate me after I do . . . I don't want to lose her. I don't want to lose any of my friends! I need them! I need them dearly! How am I going to go back to being that lonely me after this? I have already lost the dream that protected me from the harsh realities. I can't go back to the shadows now that I've had a taste of reality, of friendship and companionship . . . I know I'm going to lose them . . . I'm sure I will because I'm disgusting . . . because I'm tainted and pitiful . . . because I'm a mess and a monster . . . I'm so selfish and conceited . . .

"Your eyes are welling up even now." Juuhachigou's patronizing look changed into one of worry. "I'm sure that if you tell me you're going to feel better. It's one of those little things that make us human." She tried to give an encouraging smile but it came up absolutely wrong. I laughed and put on this reassuring face I had been practicing lately. No one saw through it, no one saw the real me behind it . . . because the real me is a disgusting, twisted creature that should writhe in agony . . .

"You guys see things that aren't real. I'm doing fine! I'm just a bit short on sleep is all."

"That crap might work on your imbecile of a boyfriend but it does not work on me." Juuhachigou glared heatedly at me, provoking me to tell her the truth. Instead, I used the opening to change the topic.

"Don't call him names! He's a wonderful person!" _Much better than YOU will ever be_, the little voice in the back of my mind told me, making me pause a bit. "I don't want you talking bad about him . . . and although I know I can't change your opinion of him, please don't speak badly of him in front of me . . . I really hold Yamcha in highest regard currently . . . He means everything to me . . ." _Disgusting hypocrite . . . _

"Okay, okay, I'll shut up; just don't give me that depressed look because it depresses me too." She gave that smile again but this time it affected me too. I smiled back.

* * *

That day came out to be a terribly cold and windy one. The sky was somber, the clouds were incredibly thick and the raindrops fell like tiny spears from the heavens, piercing the skin with their merciless coldness.

Bulma stared vacuously ahead just like any other day. Although this time she was shivering. Her blouse was thin because the day had begun with a brightly shining sun—or at least as _brightly_ as an autumn sun could shine. She had even volunteered not to take a jacket with her. It was hell to pay now.

Her skin was covered with goosebumps, her teeth were chattering and her limbs were shaking while she crossed her arms in what looked like a regular stance but was actually done in an attempt to warm her body. It was to no avail—it served as little help when the gale brushed past her. She squeezed her eyes shut wondering why the forces had to punish her this way, in such a pitiful situation with the person she least wanted there in that moment.

Vegeta was usually the only person to wait on the same bus stop from school with her. Today he was standing a good several feet from her, turning his head to look at her every now and then. It annoyed the—or at least what remained of them—living daylights out of her. That bastard . . . she hated him so much! He didn't have a right to look at her! He didn't even have a right to be around her! She didn't want him there! She didn't want him to look at her!

She didn't want him to see how weak she actually was . . . she didn't want his protruding gaze to look at her and see how devastated she actually felt with the entire affair . . . But most of all she didn't want him to see how much she needed him, how much she wanted him still, after all he had done to her . . . she didn't want him to know how disgusting she was because it would destroy what little respect he had for her . . .

The minutes were passing and the buses were still not coming. The skin of her lips was now reaching an alarming purple colour. Then he noticed that his bus is accelerating towards the stop but hers was nowhere to be found. It would probably be some five minutes more before she even got on her way home . . .

"You're really stupid; you know that?" he muttered as he took off his jacket and put it on her shoulders, sidestepping her to get on the bus afterwards.

And the next moment, he was gone, leaving a stunned blue-haired heiress clutching the front of the jacket closed with her hands in order to preserve her warmth . . .

* * *

I couldn't stop thinking about it the entire way home. He had . . . he actually gave me his jacket . . . He gave me his jacket because he saw how cold I was . . . He gave me his jacket . . . because he cared that I was cold . . . because he was annoyed with me . . .

It was a thin jacket. It did nothing against the rain but it definitely helped me keep myself warm on the way home. And most importantly, it smelled like him . . .

I felt like he was there, his arms around me the entire time . . . His intoxicating scent was all over the garment, making it rain harder in my head than the weather outside . . . I was so disgusting . . .

The littlest things he did affected me so greatly . . . I was so content with thinking he was just as selfish as I am. I was absolutely fine when thinking he cared none of me. I was doing so well with assuring myself that he didn't care what would happen to me, that his wouldn't bat an eyelash even if someone killed me before his very eyes. I'm pathetic . . . my resolve is so easy to break . . . I'm so revoltingly pathetic . . .

I barely heard Yamcha talking to me as I entered the house. He was excusing for not being there with me on the bus stop but he needed to make things ready for our night tonight. Yamcha . . . the person I was using . . . apologizing to me, for every little thing when I should be the one to cry and beg for his forgiveness . . . I, who had betrayed what little trust he had in me . . . a dirty little doll he seemed to care so much for . . .

How is it possible for a human being to be so monstrous? I looked into his eyes and his gaze betrayed the confusion he felt with my silence. Then he noticed the jacket and asked whose it was. I couldn't help myself—I sobbed and let go of the garment, ignoring it as it collapsed on the floor. Yamcha raised a questioning eye brow at me, asking if everything was alright.

How could I tell him nothing was alright? How could I tell him that I could never return the feelings he had for me? How was I supposed to disappoint him? How was I supposed to kill his hopes and dreams just like mine had been shattered? How was I supposed to tell him that I had betrayed him so brutally? How was I supposed to tell him that I am just a filthy little whore? How was I supposed to tell him that I was just using him to suit my whim? How was I supposed to tell him that I loved Vegeta before I had even known him? How was he supposed to respect a person like me? How was I supposed to explain to him what I felt whenever I was alone? How was I supposed to put years upon years of mental torment into words? How was I supposed to tell him how hurt I felt? How was I supposed to tell him how disgusted with myself I felt? How was I supposed to explain to him the feeling of wanting to strip away your skin and the sins you have committed? How was I supposed to make him understand what a monster I am? How was I supposed to tell him nothing would _ever_ be alright?

And, before I knew it, he was holding me in his arms while I wailed in anguish, tears cascading down my eyes endlessly.

For the first time since this hollowness had engulfed me, I cried . . .

* * *

_I am terribly, terribly sorry for the lateness of this update. I would be thankful if anyone is still reading this. It was too late that I noticed what was blocking my muse—I didn't like the previous fifth chapter. That's why I removed it and redid it with a different thought in mind. I hope that this time you'll like it. I was wondering whether or not I should stop writing completely—I really, really had absolutely no muse. But I really love you guys and I had promised to finish my fics… I will feel that I have a right to retreat only when I finish them all._

_I will probably have very irregular updates now that there are just two months and a half until the most important exam in my school year. I'm taking the CPE ESOL examination and it's horribly difficult now that I've lost my touch. I hope that you still want to read this though because if you do, all my muse will come back to me and I have some good ideas of how to continue this story._

_I hope you forgive me and I hope that I managed to convey Bulma's feelings in this chapter. It's very hypocritical to ask you this…but please find it in you to review…please?_


	6. Selfishness

Due to popular demand, I have decided to, in order to give you a bit more intimate look into affairs, make another personal point of view—Vegeta's. Oh, joy. I hope that you like the idea anyway . . . It's you who I'm doing all of this anyway.

* * *

Saying I had "calmed down" an hour later would be an overstatement. There was no "calm" in the head-splitting headache that the gods had bestowed upon me, just to shut me up. I could have gone on crying for hours if not for that . . . but then again I probably wouldn't have done that either, if even just out of pity for poor Yamcha's ears.

Yamcha . . . Every time I saw him or heard his comforting words throughout the entire agonizing hour of wailing and sobbing, my crying would increase all over again with renewed vigor. It was pathetic, how easily controllable I was by my emotions . . . it was pathetic how he still stayed by my side, even after all I had told him . . .

Yes, I told him everything. Every little gruesome detail, every little ugly truth, every little despicable feeling I had for the asshole . . . With each word, the look in his eyes became more and more distant, as I had expected. He looked at me differently, sheltering himself with a wall from my revolting self . . . Yes . . . I knew this would happened, and yes, I knew I fully deserved it . . . but as it happened, I couldn't help feeling the pain in my chest increase all over again . . . I was such a terrible person . . . I hated myself even more if that was physically possible . . .

"So . . ." he began in a shaken voice, "what are you going to do now?" He looked at me in the eyes, ready to tell if I would lie to him. He was such a wonderful person, so unselfish, so calculating . . . By simply looking into my eyes he could tell whether I was lying or not . . . because he knew me so well in that aspect . . . and yet didn't know a thing about me in general . . .

"I . . ." I looked away. "I really don't know . . ."

"We can't go on like this," he informed me, vocalizing the painful fact that stabbed me with another pang of guilt.

"I . . ." I couldn't bear hearing this even in my head . . . "It will sound terribly hypocritical . . . I know . . ." I wasn't going to say this . . . "I know I'm such a terrible person . . ." I lifted my eyes to catch his gaze. "It sounds atrociously hypocritical but . . . but . . ." He lifted his eye brows, sad gaze urging me on. What have I brought upon this radiant person? What am I trying to bring more to him? I couldn't! I couldn't possibly break the last of him . . . this attraction of his, it would devastate him . . . I couldn't say this . . . "Nothing, forget it." I shook my head and rose to my wobbly feet. Curse me for my damn weakness! Not now, not when I most need my resolve! "Just go home and forget all about this, and all about me!"

I tried to make my way towards the door but he caught my wrist before I could flee. I made a futile attempt to shrug or shove him off but he didn't budge. I turned around on my heel to look into his eyes, now full of determination and . . . hope? He wasn't serious . . .

"Finish what you were trying to say." There was an air of finality in the order . . . one that I have never heard in his voice before. He wanted to know, he wanted to hear . . . he knew he would hurt and still he wanted to hear it . . . Why? Why did he do all of this for me? Why was he so ready to sacrifice his own happiness just to relieve me? Why? I couldn't understand . . . I couldn't possibly comprehend this unselfishness of his . . . Why?

And, going against all that was left good in me, I heard myself saying it . . . the terribly egoistical and hypocritical words . . .

"It's disgustingly hypocritical but I don't want to lose you . . . I didn't want to befriend you because I knew how it would all end up . . . with me hurting you . . . I've never had any friends and it was better that way . . . because I'm a terrible person and I would've tainted them . . ." Oddly enough there were still tears left in my eyes which fell freely now as I looked up at him again. "But against everything I ever believed, against all my defenses you broke through and became such a vital part of my life that . . . I'm not sure what will happen to me if I lose you . . . I'm so sorry for saying all of this, Yamcha . . . I really need your friendship so much . . . just to know I'm still alive . . . It's an impossibly selfish thing to say, but I beg you . . . don't leave me on my own . . ."

Before I knew it, he had crushed me to his chest in a tight hug. My silent tears were in free fall once again as I clutched him closer to me. I didn't want to let go and yet felt filthier with each second that I clung to him. I was a terrible, horrible person . . .

"I won't let you become like him . . ." I heard him whisper while he caressed the back of my head. "I will never leave your side."

"I'll only hurt you . . ."

"Hurt me then, it doesn't matter to me, as long as you turn to me whenever you need someone," he retorted making me collapse to my knees again, yet never letting go of me as we both sat on the cold floor.

"I don't deserve you . . ." I muttered through my tears.

"You deserve to love and to be loved back, cheesy though it might sound to you." He probably expected me to laugh at that but I only cried harder. "I'll help you get back at him."

"Pardon?" I was shocked beyond belief. So much, in fact, that I immediately stopped crying to look at Yamcha's smirking face.

"I'll help you get back at him, or I'll help you make him see you. Whatever you want to do, I'm in it with you." I stared at him as if he had just said he'd jump off a cliff. "After all, that's what friends are for! And I sure as hell would like to flaunt it to my buddies that I match-made my best friend Bulma Briefs, _the_ one and only."

I must have looked hideous as it was, with my terribly red eyes and swollen from crying face. As though it wasn't enough, I couldn't help my face fixing into a grimace of utter nonplus.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you insist on doing all these things for me if they hurt you so? Why are you smiling so gleefully after those atrocious things I said . . . ? Why are you being friendly with me after I caused you so much grief with my monstrous betrayal? Why are you pushing yourself so, for hopeless revolting me?" I felt absolutely lost. This person . . . how was he able to give so much to me, such an ungrateful little whore? Why . . . ?

In spite of my puzzlement he just grinned. But this time there was a pang of pain, a twitch of a grimace on his handsome features, if even for a single moment.

"You're the first person to have made me realize some trivial truths that I have before written off as clichéd . . ." He looked into my eyes and cupped my cheek tenderly. I was repulsed . . . repulsed with my own impurity, with my own gruesomeness . . . with my soul's hideousness as he did so . . . I couldn't bear to look at him in the eye—I was so ashamed. "You're a much better person than you give yourself credit, Bulma . . . Please stop blaming yourself for everything."

I shook my head curtly and inhaled shakily, stopping my endless irritating tears. I noticed then that Yamcha's face became stonily serious once again.

"Bulma, tell me just this," he began uncertainly. It definitely gathered my attention though. "Did you do . . . anything . . . you know," he looked into my eyes as he said that, "with _him_ . . . while we were together?"

I'm almost certain my face described the horror I felt in my heart at the prospect of what he was implying.

"I could _never_ do _that_ terrible a thing to you, Yamcha!" I retorted, if a bit too harshly and sternly than I had intended at first.

Yamcha, on the other hand, just smiled that sad way again, caressing my damp tresses of hair.

"I'll be going on my way now, as it's getting rather late and you're probably tired and want to be by yourself for a moment . . ." He got up from the floor and took off for the door.

Being left by myself was the last thing I would've wished for . . . but I'd be damned if I let myself make a sound of protest or the slightest attempt to stop him. Right then, the person suffering the most was him . . . He, who tried so hard to make me feel the same way he did . . . how wonderful it could have been if only he had succeeded . . . I'm sure that his happy-go-lucky attitude would've been the ray of light that could've broken through the thick clouds that have settled over my troubled heart . . . but I guess it just wasn't meant to be . . .

With a last lingering glance at the threshold, he said upon his depart, "You know . . . it would probably sound insane if anyone heard me saying it . . . but I think I would've preferred that it was just your body that had betrayed me . . . because when it's just the bodily desire, it is easy to forgive and forget . . . yet when your heart belongs elsewhere, there couldn't possibly be anything I can do to make it mine . . ."

I . . . I . . . I hate myself so much . . .

* * *

Vegeta leant further on his desk, the hand supporting his head becoming looser while he sighed in boredom. Piccolo was on again about the entrance exam of the Orange Star University, how difficult it was going to be and blah, blah, blah—all of his usual shits that the spiky haired boy rarely cared enough to actually listen to.

With a side glance to his left, Vegeta noted the absence of his desk-mate for which time that day he couldn't possible care less to keep count of. To be rather frank, he expected such a thing. Lately she had been looking about to collapse and, being the stupid and feeble woman that she was, she most probably did, coming down with a cold the previous day or something ludicrous like that. The odder thing to the onyx eyed male, however, was the fact that her lackey showed up at school that day, looking as careless and idiotic as ever. Vegeta snorted angrily—probably got laid, he deduced.

His time for brooding was yet again interrupted when something light whacked his head and bounced down on the ground. Irritated and ready to kill, his eyes whipped around the room to spot the molester only to find Goku pointing his finger to the object thrown. Why that babbling buffoon better know what's coming to him once class ended . . .

For the time being though, the temperamental teen decided to collect the, as it came out, crumpled into a ball note from Goku and he judged he might as well check what it said. He wasn't curious or anything!

_Hey, Veg', any idea where B is? The girls were wondering if she was alright and everything . . ._

Gritting his teeth and balling his fists, Vegeta let out a low growl inaudible to anyone around him. Why that imbecilic fool . . . ! It was probably just himself worrying over the woman—the girls were just another excuse to veil his intentions! He was so see-through, especially after being befriended to him for all those years—hadn't he figured that out _yet_?

Grabbing his pen, the flame-haired teenager scribbled something viciously in almost as illegible shrift as his fellow class-mate's and crumpled the paper sheet with enviable vigor before throwing it malignantly at the other boy. He smirked in content when he heard Goku's muffled groan of protest when the thing collided with his head.

Rubbing his head, Goku unfolded the paper.

_I'm not her damn personal secretary. And stop being childish, you imbecile! Hiding behind others as an excuse is already far too old!_

Goku pouted indignantly, readying his hand with the pen over the note in order to send back a reply when another, harder, thing made impact with his head.

"Ouch!" he grumbled while rubbing the sore spot. "What's the big idea, Ve—?" but before he could finish he noticed the murderous gaze the teacher who was now staring right at him was giving him.

"Dear goodness, I think I have been mistaken for somebody else," Mr. Piccolo said sardonically. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Son" Goku swallowed audibly. "How would you like to share your concerns written on that piece of paper with the rest of the class?"

At this point, Vegeta was getting seriously bored of the entire affair. He watched with indifferent eyes as Goku explained dully how he had asked Vegeta whether he knew if something was wrong with Bulma as it was—quite obvious—that she was missing that day.

"Nice try, Son, but next time try to sound a bit more convincing when you lie." Goku stared dumbfounded at his mentor. "You bunch of miscreants couldn't possibly fool me with such petty explanations."

"But I'm _not_ lying," he tried to clarify. Naturally, the bell chose that most convenient moment to ring.

"Hn, saved by the bell again, Mr. Son. Now scram you scoundrels, I have better things to do than deal with you in my only free time in this dump." It was a very disturbing manner in which the teacher always talked to the class but once you saw them in action during the recesses, you knew he was absolutely right. Class 12-C was one of the worst you could come across in the school's entire history. Most of them were violent, a bit too ambitious—bordering the aggressive even—and far too loud and cunning for their own good.

However, for better or for worse, until you got to know any of them better you had no such observations because all you could see was a bunch of noisy excited teenagers chatting with each other during the breaks between classes.

"Now that you mention it," Juuhachigou began as she leant on the free place on Vegeta's desk while the rest of the gang gathered around, "where _is_ Wonder Girl? I never thought I'd see the day miss Perfect Score would skip."

"You're right. It's really not like her to play truant . . ." ChiChi mused as well.

"I think it's best to go check on her after school. Maybe she needs a shoulder to lean on or has some trouble because of which she can't go to school," Goku added.

"That's why she has Romeo to aid her, remember?" Krillin pointed over his shoulder at Yamcha who was now chatting with his sister.

Vegeta was idly sitting in his seat, listening to those buffoons spewing nonsense and idiotic musings. He wasn't well known at all for his infinite patience—quite the contrary. For that reason their little tirade became a bit too much for him to take much too soon. He slammed his feet on the ground as he sat up.

"You don't know her but you're discussing whether it's 'like her' or not to skip school. You're making stupid conjectures and deciding things by yourself when you know nothing of their validity. It's so ridiculous! All of it!" He then made his way for the door; though not before hearing ChiChi call after him,

"At least _we_ know how to get befriended and care for other human beings."

The flame-haired guy made no retort as he stormed off.

* * *

As the gang watched Vegeta's back disappear out the door, ChiChi snorted in a quite un-lady-like way.

"Aw, Chi, that was a bit harsh, even if it's Vegeta we're talking about," Krillin said while adopting a pitiful expression on his face.

"Serves him right, that jerk! The least he could do is _act_ concerned!" the raven haired girl complained, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Now that you mention it, he has for a fact been a bit more withdrawn lately than the usual . . ." Goku's eye brows narrowed in concern as he said that. Although he and Vegeta might not get along well all the time, the happy-go-lucky teen believed they had a special kind of bond between the two of them . . . if only just because they had lived similar lives.

"The next thing you know he'd have a thing for our bright genius girl." Juuhachigou smirked at the prospect. ChiChi gasped at that.

"Don't even _joke_ about those things, Juu!"

"Vegeta having a _crush_? Brrr!" Krillin mocked a shiver at those words, making his two female companions laugh a bit.

"Okay, guys—_that _really crossed the line." Goku gave his friends a scorning expression, not looking amused in the least.

"Lighten up a bit, Goku—you know we're just kidding!" ChiChi said, although not really convincingly.

"Yeah! You know we all _love_ Vegeta, don't you?" Juuhachi mocked, making Goku roll his eyes in defeat. He never wanted to be on the bad side of those two girls . . .

"Anyway, it would be tough choice—Don Juan or Vileness Child? Which is the better of those two evils, I wonder?" Krillin laughed at the attempted joke, eliciting a cruel laugh from both girls.

"I'd hope, if it came to that, that Bulma wouldn't choose Vegeta over Yamcha." Goku stated scarily seriously, making his friends look stunned at him.

"That coming from you, whoa . . . Some friend you are." Juuhachigou gave a sly smile.

"Don't mistake—Vegeta is really my closest friend and I appreciate him. And that's exactly why _I_ could be the one to say those things, because I know him best. Yamcha might be a player but at least he's nice and warm-hearted . . . while everything Bulma can get from Vegeta is hurt and loneliness. I don't want my friends getting down each other's throats—it would create meaningless tension within the gang . . . don't you think?" In the next moment, his seriousness faded when a thought occurred to him. "Hey, twenty-minute recess already? Gotta go, guys!" and with that off he went for lunch . . .

His friends stared after him for quite some time before speaking again.

"No matter how many times he does those instant changes, I can never grow used to it . . ." ChiChi said with a sweatdrop.

Juuhachigou and Krillin both agreed with a slow nod of the head with her.

**

* * *

**

Later that day, the gang—save for Vegeta who took off before anyone could see him go—decided to go visit Bulma at home and see if she was alright. Of course, it was transparent whose idea it was but it was a quite nice one—and every once in a while the whole gang could be nice at the same time as well.

However, the "host" of their visit was neither eager to be visited, nor was she in any condition to welcome any visitors.

Cautiously, Goku probed the door handle to the room which he guessed was Bulma's by the rather obvious "Bulma's Room" written with large friendly letters on a child-like coloured sign, like the ones little children are keen to make for themselves when they see them on TV.

To his surprise, Goku and company had found the front door—or was 'gate' a more accurate word for the occasion—very much open for anyone to enter. And when he saw the land mistress with her back towards the door, clutching something like clinging to a lifeline, it became quite clear that Bulma wasn't in the mood to be interrogated or bugged with anything whatsoever.

For all his stupidity in school subjects, the boy had incomprehensively excellent people skills. It was probably that quality of his that had at first attracted ChiChi to him, as well as all of his friends. It was also the reason why he could befriended with practically anyone.

"Hey, B," he began in a calm tone, hoping against all hope that she wasn't asleep. When the bundle on the bed snorted in greeting as well, his shoulders slumped from their tensed state into their normal one. With a characteristic goofy grin, he approached the bed on which his friend lay. "I thought you'd want to know that your door was unlocked."

"There isn't a single object worthy in this house of locking the door for," a throaty voice croaked from the bed. Obviously she hadn't been out all day, or used her voice at all . . .

"Now that's a bit cold," Goku complained while sitting on his knees right in front of the bed. "I like your door sign." He grinned at her still turned back.

"My mother made it against my will when I was three." She made a pause during which she snorted. "I think it's the only keepsake of her that I still have."

'Another touchy subject,' the spiky-haired teen thought cringing. Today was definitely not her day for conversing . . . He was starting to understand why she hadn't come to school. As if reading his thoughts in the exactly same instant, she grumbled out something from the bed, clinging a bit closer still to whatever she was holding.

"Is that all you came for—to hear a few teary stories about my precious mother?"

"We were just wondering how you were doing and we came to see you." He clarified with a kind smile.

"I'm fine. I'll come tomorrow. If that's all you had to say you can leave now." Something like that would've certainly made a normal person pull back, if anything from indignation—it was what Bulma had said it for as well. However, what she still didn't realize entirely was that Goku was no normal person and things like that were not even close to insulting . . . otherwise he wouldn't have been able to be befriended with Vegeta for as long as he had been.

"We were worried about you, Bulma."

"I'm touched." She tried to sound as cold as she could . . . but her tears were threatening to fall down her face all over again and she had to try her best to keep her voice steady and her face straight. "You can go now."

"If there's anything we can help you with, you know you can always count on us, right?" the teen asked while he rose to his feet. He noticed a faintly familiar black garment in the possession of Bulma's arms. "We're your friends after all, right?"

This time the phrase really needed the best of her restraint to keep her from crying out loud. She wanted so badly to tell someone how she felt, to receive some understanding, to get supported, to escape the hollowness and darkness of her mind in which she had thrown herself for a whole day straight. She needed her friends—for the short time she had known them they had all become such a vital part of her life. Their support was priceless . . . and yet when she most needed it . . . she couldn't find the words to say, the voice to speak to them . . . It was pitiful, it was pathetic . . . and it was so goddamn painful . . .

But instead saying all those things she wanted so desperately to, she just nodded to herself, knowing Goku would see her.

"Yes, Goku. Thank you. Now please leave me alone . . . I need to have a bit of rest."

"Get better soon, Bulma! We'll be waiting for you tomorrow!" He smiled warmly from the threshold and waved good-bye, although the blue-haired heiress couldn't see that. "See you in school!"

How she wished she could get better soon . . . How she wished it could all get cured by the flick of a magic wand . . . How she wished it could all go away, all those heavy feelings that suffocated her . . . How she wished the painful memories could just evaporate in thin air and she could be the person she had always wanted to be, the person she _knew_ she could have been . . . if only her life had not steered in such a wrong direction from the very beginning . . .

When the door slammed behind him and his radiance gone, Bulma felt her resolve crumble. She pulled her feet closer to her body in a fetus-like position, clinging to Vegeta's jacket tighter and wept herself to sleep, hoping that she would be able to bring herself together for the next day.

* * *

The next day a student entered the school edifice a bit later than everyone else. It was already halfway through the first class for the day but the person couldn't care less. She was much too much intertwined in her thoughts to have any attention to spare for tedious matters such as those.

She walked slowly up the alley leading to the main entrance, a sad distant smile on her adolescent features. It surprised her how much she could actually achieve if she simply set her entire being, body and soul, into it. She had first managed to overcome her mother's betrayal, and subsequently her father's for that matter, then had managed to skip a grade (and a very tough one, too) in the school that was famed as the one with most strict educational program in the country and now this . . .

She had never believed herself to be a strong person. She had never showed any strength. Her taut smile melted into a firm frown at the thought—she wasn't as strong as _he_ was, and she would probably never be.

Her heart had become weak when her mother had started regarding her as a complete stranger. Her resolve had completely broken when the spine of their modest family, her ditzy, perky, but still kind and gentle mother had gone insane. Her world had narrowed down to the ugly little premise that she called her room. She had always hidden her feelings. She had always drawn a line between herself and people in fear of being rejected again and as a natural self-preservation instinct. She had never had any ambitions in life whatsoever because there was not a thing that this cruel reality could offer her that could actually spike her interest.

And then she had to meet him, the tough guy . . . Someone completely opposite to her. Someone who had seemed so lovely, so _heavenly_ the first year she had attended . . . and then had so absurdly abruptly changed that it was incomprehensible. She had felt the will to live ignite in her again, drive her onward and onward, closer to him . . . although not in her wildest dreams would she have thought she would be able to become as close to him.

The bell sang its high-pitched annoying tune throughout the entire building, giving her a cue to enter the classroom. She didn't pay Mr. Piccolo, the teacher with whom the class had had homeroom just now, or anyone else for that matter, any attention before reaching her friends, who were by her side in a flash. Or at least they had intended to be, before Mr. Piccolo spoke up.

"I know that my Homeroom classes are probably not the most interesting thing to attend to so early in the morning for a so-called prodigy such as you, Miss Briefs—"

"If you know that then any further continuation to that question would be rather pointless, don't you think, Mr. Piccolo?" Bulma threw her teacher an icy glare over her shoulder.

If her words hadn't been enough, this certainly took Piccolo aback. He had never had this reserved student, who was truly living up to the subtle nickname for her that had spread throughout the class—Wonder Girl—talk back to him in any way, or stray from the path of a spotless record. True, when she hadn't been in his class, he hadn't even cared to get to know anything about her, even though she was _the_ Bulma Briefs. Frankly said, he didn't care for any other students but his class—though he would never tell _them_ that either—if anything, he didn't want them to get all arrogant on him. But now, here she was, talking to him, a representative of authority, as if she was better than him . . .

"Then please do remember this for the next time you try to pull such a stunt, missy—if you're absent from another one of my classes, I shall send a letter to your father or call him personally to a parent-teacher meeting, so he gets a little update on his daughter's character towards her superiors."

By the time her friends were worriedly looking at her, wondering if they should approach her or not. There was something rather scary in her eye . . . An evil glint, a distant shine that made them look so . . . mind-bogglingly _cold_ . . . It was too unusual . . .

"Oh, please do try that—I would like to see if it results in _anything_," she muttered to herself while she turned her back to the teacher.

Being the person to let his temper easily get the better of him when having a student talk to him like that, Mr. Piccolo would have come up with another sardonic comeback to that if it hadn't been for Goku interrogating him something about an upcoming physics Olympiad . . . or something. He didn't even care enough to listen, as it was clear as a day to him that the fool was only trying to divert his attention from his friend, who was obviously getting deeper into trouble every second just by standing around her homeroom teacher. He smirked in a half-amused (because he was still half-annoyed too) matter—if anything, the little princess had managed to integrate herself in a class full of individualists and bind them together somewhat. It was truly fascinating how one person could change those around them so much . . . without even trying.

It was just as he was finishing that train of thought that the bell rang loudly, signaling the end of class. Mr. Piccolo snorted to himself, thinking how the damned thing had rescued those miscreants again but when he seriously considered it, he didn't care enough to punish anyone for misbehavior in the first place. They were a bunch of meddlesome teenagers, but they were _his_ bunch of meddlesome teenagers. Besides, he was just _dying_ to show that Mr. Kami that his class was better than the other man's.

Meanwhile, Bulma advanced towards her and Vegeta's desk, finding him staring directly at her. She returned the intense look with just as much ferocity. If looks could kill or talk, both would be dead by now or they would be having a very heated argument.

It was, of course, Bulma who broke the eye contact first, taking her backpack off on the desk, rummaging for something inside it. Vegeta, being himself, only raised slightly a dark eyebrow at her actions but nonetheless refrained from questioning her—he found it absolutely useless as it was evident she was looking for something to give to him.

Wordlessly, Bulma took out a neatly folded black jacket that seemed oddly familiar to the boy and she gave it to him.

"Don't look at it as if it's contaminated." She snorted angrily as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I washed it before returning it."

At that point, she begged God that he would say something. _Anything_, just so she wouldn't feel so uneasy around him. She hoped, too, that her resolve had improved since the previous day's stunt but there was no way to be sure . . .

"You were absent yesterday," he stated in that cold, chilling voice, making a shiver run several times up and down her spine.

"Getting better at stating the obvious, aren't we?" she smirked evilly and looked insistently at him but he didn't bat an eyelash. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with seeing him return her glare like that. He was now proving to her how different he was when staring from the side and when facing head-on. She swallowed with difficulty. What was even more odd and uncomfortable, however, was the fact that he really waited for an answer. Being something that interested him . . . she felt another chilling shiver run through her body. Closing her eyes and making herself look haughty—or at least she hoped she was succeeding—Bulma walked over to her own seat and sat herself ungracefully. "What do you care where I have been? I don't owe you anything to begin with—"

"You were with _him_, weren't you?" He scrutinized her with that dark gaze of his, making something scratch against her lungs from the inside, begging to be freed.

Her eye brows furrowed, however she felt inside, and an angry flush rose in her pallid cheeks. Suddenly she had the untamable urge to slap him, just to feel better about all of this that had happened to her in the last couple of days, just to make herself feel better for turning Yamcha down like she had . . . and all of that pain inflicted on an innocent person because of this egoistic bastard! What had she been thinking, having those ridiculous dreams of actually putting up with this bastard's attitude all day long? She couldn't stand him!

"Although it is none of your business, as a matter of fact I _was_. And, before you waste your breath anymore, I think I'm going to see what the others are up to. Whatever it is, they are certainly better company than _you_." She huffed angrily and stomped off towards her friends who seemed to be giving them space at that moment but cheered up the moment Bulma advanced toward them.

When she turned her back to him, Bulma left behind a very puzzled Vegeta to deal with a torrent of new emotions. Among them, however, was one that he knew perfectly well—hatred. Oh, yes, how he hated that scar-faced rat . . . As he thought that, he gave Yamcha the evil eye and the boy caught the look, hastily finding an excuse for leaving his sister and the room. Oh, how he dreamed of making the little bastard sorry for ever laying eyes on _his_ woman . . .

One of those days . . . One of those days he would reclaim his little possession and would make the idiot pay . . . One day . . .

* * *

"What's wrong, B? Another fight with mister grumpy?" Krillin joked, laughing whole-heartily afterwards, making his friend crack an uncertain smile.

"Yeah, somewhat . . ." she said indecisively, not really sure of what to make of her own little outburst. A try to make him feel jealous, was it? Or was it a subconscious attempt to make him angrier with Yamcha . . . ? She didn't even dare follow that kind of train of thought . . .

"Hey, Bulma, are you really all right now? Goku said that it looked that you have some pretty serious problems when we came yesterday and we figured . . ." ChiChi began, looking compassionately at her blue-haired friend. As if just coming out of a trance, Bulma laughed nervously and waved a dismissive hand.

"Of course, I'm great! Don't I look great? Oh, damn, and I tried so hard when dressing myself this morning. Don't worry over me so much, you guys. You're making me feel uncomfortable!" She forced another laugh but this time her newly found friends seemed a bit more convinced. She smiled at them but, inside, she felt terrible.

Once again, she was distancing herself from others. She wasn't even doing it consciously, but couldn't stop herself. However, if her pretending abilities finally found a decent place to kick in, if it was in order not to worry the only people in that world for which she cared about and which cared about her, she felt a bit better . . .

"You missed the fun, Wonder Girl—we had a surprise test in physics yesterday when you were absent." Juuhachigou informed her with a smug smirk.

Bulma made a despaired face. If she had missed the test that meant . . . more time with Mr. Piccolo so he could lecture her, let her have the test and grade it afterwards. Life was so cruel . . . The last thing she wanted was to be with Mr. Piccolo alone . . . especially after their little argument a few minutes ago . . . The guy probably hated her guts right about now . . .

"Impossible . . . Fate can't be _that_ cruel . . . Now I'll have to do the test alone, in the same room with Piccolo . . ." she muttered incoherently to herself.

"Oh, don't worry," Goku began cheerfully, making her raise her head in hope. "Vegeta will be doing it too—he was absent from that class as well."

A strangled cry tore from the marine-haired girl's chest while she collapsed in a boneless heap on Juuhachi's desk around which they were gathered. Now she knew that God _was not_ love . . . otherwise he wouldn't have permitted such a thing to happen to her . . . Not with the two people she least wanted to see . . .

"Heaven despises me, I'm sure now . . ."

* * *

_I have always . . . always lived on my own, ever since I can remember. I have had very few influences from my parents on my life, but what little they did influence me, it was always negative. _

_I'm not going to complain about the way my life has gone. I'm not like those pansies that are just looking for an excuse to make people pity them and use their past as a way to get understanding. If someone pities me, I beat them up—I neither need nor want their pity for me. I have done plenty in my life to prove that I am a person who doesn't need to be pitied. I don't need anyone's understanding either. Winning someone's approval has never been on my need-to-do list, and I have avoided it successfully thus far. It could be because few people know what kind of life I have lived . . . Maybe it's because they're too scared of me to ask . . . or perhaps it's because they're afraid to find out what stands behind my abnormally violent behaviour that keeps them away from me . . . _

_Hah, petty creatures. They know nothing of life; they know nothing of this world. But I do . . . and they have a right to be scared from me. I _am_ a very scary person, a very dangerous person . . . And I am glad that they keep their distance, because people piss me off the most . . . _

_I'm not going to complain about my past. The past is just that—past; it's something that's over and done for. I have always despised those people who live with memories of yesterday, holding onto them like simpletons, wishing they can bring back something that's already long over . . . It's so stupid it's not even amusing. I don't complain and I don't boast about it. The past is something that I have no wish to talk about with anyone who is not directly involved or informed about it._

_It is exactly because I don't want to become like that kind of person, a weak-hearted, weak-willed idiot, that I just set myself a goal, a purpose, and go for it with all I have. Sometimes I play quite dirty, but the ends justify the means. Is that a bad thing to say, coming from a teenager who should be building solid beliefs and values? _

_Actually what angers me when people go on to judge others is that they don't realize how narrow-minded their justice actually is. They go on, trying to enforce their own likings and beliefs on others, saying that one thing is "good" and another's "bad". Who decides those things? Every individual does for themselves, naturally . . . but they seem to forget that every time when they see me beating up some no good bastard who dares to pick a fight with me. Am I the wrong one, for beating them up, or are they wrong for picking a fight? _

_When was the time that I had begun thinking like this, in this lawless manner? I can't even remember that far back . . . It was before anyone would believe I was conscious of my existence . . . It was on the day when that whore, my so-called mother, left the house, with a bang, like she usually does things. It was on that day that she said all her puny little brain could come up with to hurt me, to destroy what little childish consciousness I still had, that I reverted to this kind of thinking . . . _

_Humans are deceitful creatures. They are egoistic and do things as it suits their whim, not caring what happens to others in the process. They lie, they don't obey the rules they set for themselves, and they abhor the peace that they strive for. They betray one another without slightest hesitation, whenever they feel threatened or not rightfully appreciated. They want to get more than they give, thus resulting in them forcefully taking what they don't get. They are ridiculous creatures that are worthy only being laughed at. They're despicable creatures whose few uses should only be exploited until one is fully satisfied._

_That's why I hate them all . . . I hate the people I see on the street, I hate the people who live in my block, I hate the people who breathe my air and contaminate it with their idiocy. I hate everyone who tries to prove they're any better than me, because they aren't. Affection, compassion, friendship, love—all those are fabrications of people, sweet labels to slap on their impure intentions; excuses they use for exploiting each other. I don't believe in chimeras such as selflessness. There is no such thing as a person who isn't self-centered. No matter how pure a mind, there is no innocent person—not in this century, not in this country. _

_I can't help but laugh whenever someone mentions the word 'love' around me. It's so ridiculous it could make me die from suffocation with laughter. They say love is a selfless feeling . . . ? Then isn't it actually that you make someone else happy, if you know that it would make you happy too? Isn't it because you want some sort of gratification from that person that you're actually being nice to them? Isn't it because you know that they'll do whatever you wish them to afterwards that you act nice? _

_There is no such thing as love or friendship. Friends are only people who you think you can rely on but yet you doubt them easily if someone with as strong character as mine starts convincing you your friends had betrayed you. Trust—it's such a fragile thing . . . So fragile is this trust that it just _begs_ to be broken and disposed of . . . ! _

_I hate those hiding behind excuses to justify using others. I hate making up reasons for being with someone, saying they're 'friends', 'lovers' or anything imbecilic such as that. I find use for someone for my own selfish purposes and I don't hesitate using them. I don't consider others' feelings because they, too, are just temporary things; things you forget overnight after a good sleep. Emotions are things that lose intensity so easily that it's appalling. I cannot make myself appreciate the feelings of those who only serve as dolls, tools to achieve the goals I set for myself. _

_Those are the truths by which I live my life . . . These are, basically, the reasons why I behave like I do. I think that it's not necessary to be a rocket scientist to understand my reasoning._

_People hate me because I hate them equally as much. People are scared from me because I am so painfully frank, as well as blunt and rather radical in my convictions. Because of my strong character, they avoid me, in fear that their weak resolve will result in losing themselves in the sheer solidity of my being. I hated the people in this shit hole of a school, people with so little backbone it wasn't even funny. Weren't those supposed to be the elite of the nation? They repulsed me, with their petty worries and interests. They were so narrow-minded and terribly prejudiced that it was enough to make me vomit if I considered it too thoroughly. They were like copies of each other; it was as if seeing the same person all over the place. People with no worries, people with no problems, people who didn't know shit about this world which they polluted with their very existence._

_And yet, here, I found this girl . . . a girl so very different from the masses. She reminded me somewhat of me with the exception that she had let her past trample all over her and her resolve, weakening her spirit and reducing it to a pitiful state. I want her now . . . I want to have her. She is to be mine, even if it's the last thing I do. _

_When I had been with her, I hadn't noticed it because she was just another girl that swooned over me, however smart she might have been. It wasn't the first time that it happened to me._

_But now . . . now she had thoughtlessly denied me! _Me_, of all people—Vegeta fucking Ouji!_

_Let me tell you this, I don't take rejection or denial well. But this girl actually managed to stimulate me . . . She stimulates me to get her crawling back to me . . . and when she does, humiliate her, hurt her like no one has ever hurt her before. I'll crush what little will she has left and then she will never be anyone else's again . . . And, if she actually manages to resist me . . . well, I'll have to admit that she's different than the others and I might just—mark my words, _might—_look at her with respect – a word which still holds little meaning to me now._

_It excites me, the answer to my question . . . Are you worthy of my respect, woman? Are you strong enough to stand up to me? _

Thinking that, Vegeta scrutinized the aquamarine-haired girl's back while she stood in the lunch line. Oh, yes, she would make her rethink turning him down ever again, or choosing anyone else instead of him. She would realize what kind of honour it actually was to have Vegeta Ouji interested in her . . . Yes, he would admit, he was interested. Interested in capturing her and crushing her. He chuckled darkly to himself.

Bulma, on the other hand, stood in the lunch line patiently, swallowed up in her own thoughts. However, it was when Juuhachigou pulled her out of her dream land that she noticed it . . . that feeling . . . It was the feeling of being watched . . . It was a feeling she was used to when she was somewhere out for, as screwed in the head as she was, she was still Bulma Briefs, the daughter of the accomplished scientist, Dr. Briefs.

It was an emotion familiar to her, but somehow it felt different than the usual . . . It was a protruding, calculating gaze that was boring into her, the gaze of a powerful, domineering character that was watching her. And, hell, did it suffocate her . . . She had the feeling that a snake was wounding around her, rendering her lungs useless, prohibiting her mind from getting enough air to think straight. It was the aura that the person exuded that choked her so, she knew . . . and she had a fleeting idea whom it belonged to, that strong gaze that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end . . .

She looked discreetly over her shoulder to indeed find the expected person staring at her, observing her every move, as if imprinting in his mind her actions, her appearance . . . as if trying to read her mind, force his way in so he knew how to manipulate her.

Looking away hastily, she swallowed inaudibly. Her heart had started pounding violently, in fear and raw excitement, stirred from the sort of adrenaline that you get when your life is threatened. Clutching to the front of her shirt, she begged God that the feeling would go away, that he would stop torturing her, that he would lose interest soon . . .

But she was wrong, terribly wrong. Vegeta was a person who held onto something tight when it grasped his attention. And, right then, she had no idea what she had got herself into when wishing to be closer to him . . .

* * *

AN: I'm sorry, it took me so long to get this chapter out and when I do it's such an uneventful one. However, I think that I did a not too bad job with Vegeta's thoughts. I hope they convey as powerful feelings as they should be. I'm sorry for the long pause and for the uneventful update but I think that I finally managed to find out where my plot is headed (yes, this actually _has_ a plot, as surprised as you probably are, lol) and the characters' developments. From next update, I will start working even harder than till now on the way I present to you my characters.

Anyway, even though it was terribly uneventful and boring character, I hope that you don't hate me just now . . . There will be plenty of time to do that later, lol.

Yours sincerely,

Dark Hope Assassin.


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